


State of Grace

by LunalitSol



Category: Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant through S2 E6, Friends to Lovers, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Oblivious Pining, Relationship Discussions, Sexual Tension, canon typical toxic masculinity; sexist comments; etc., coder boyfriends, or something like that, power disparities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23800960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunalitSol/pseuds/LunalitSol
Summary: "I asked Max if I could code for floor six. I'm moving my stuff there tomorrow morning."Leif’s voice was quiet, cracking under the surface. Normally, it was the sort of thing that would concern him.And it still was, but fuck that noise. Leif was ditching him.-An examination and an evolution.
Relationships: Tobin Batra/Leif Donnelly
Comments: 33
Kudos: 84





	1. Touch and Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: some sexist language; drinking; profanity.

State of Grace

_**C** hapter **O** ne: _

_Touch and Go_

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Tobin was fully engrossed in the sight of baby Yoda on the screen- ok, maybe eighty percent engrossed in Yoda, twenty in the bomb ass popcorn beside him- when Leif cleared his throat and started speaking in that pseudo-casual way of his: never a good sign.

“So, Tobes, by the way.”

“Hold up.” Tobin grabbed the remote, and Leif’s lips pressed together in a thin, but obliging line as Tobin paused the show. “Go.”

“OK, yeah.”

It was on the tip of Tobin’s tongue to ask if he was, in fact, OK, because Tobin was pretty sure he wasn’t. Leif had been off most of the last couple days; he was distant and wallow-y at work, maybe a shade more pale than usual, his hands flighty with anxiety. Not to mention, he’d let Tobin just straight-up pick what they were binging tonight where usually there’d be at least some amount of debate. 

But they were best friends, and they got real with each other when they needed to, as evidenced by their talk post spell-iversary shitshow; Tobin had been trying to trust that his boy would come to him. Hopefully, that was now, even if it meant taking valuable time from their Disney-plus and chill sesh.

“I asked Max if I could code for floor six. I’m moving my stuff there tomorrow morning.”

He was going to dump this whole ass bowl of delicious popcorn on his best friend’s head. What a waste. What the fuck?

“Is this Punk’d or something? Is Ashton Kutcher about to come at me right now? Because, bro-”

“I’m sorry, man. It’s real; it’s done.” 

“This is bullshit. What happened to wanting us to run floor four? Dude, you’re the one who said you wanted us to rise together.”

“I did, yeah, I did say that. It’s still true.”

Leif met his eyes for a long moment then looked away. They were still sitting closely, just the bowl of stupid popcorn between their thighs, and Tobin could practically feel the tension ratcheting up, their shoulders tightening in some kind of twisted unison. 

“It’s a good opportunity.”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

Tobin shook his head and pulled a deep breath. He needed a drink or several if he was going to even try to swallow this. Fuck. He stood quickly, only a little disappointed when the popcorn didn’t upend all over Leif’s lap. He’d deserve it. 

“Where are you going?”

Leif’s voice was quiet, cracking under the surface. Normally, it was the sort of thing that would concern him. 

And it still was, but fuck that noise. Leif was ditching him. 

He remembered viscerally passing that stupid thermos of soup back and forth between them alongside easy, almost giddy, chatter what seemed like forever ago. The warmth from their knees close and the vegetable broth in his throat; the sheer thrill of that fast bond feeling. They’d figured out nearly everything side by side ever since. What was he supposed to do without that? Hell, hadn’t they done this fight of sorts already and come out on top? What the fuck had changed? 

“This calls for drinks, right bro? We’ve got to celebrate your promotion.”

He couldn’t quite stop the bitterness from seeping in toward the end of the sentence, but Tobin was past giving a shit. He’d already killed a couple drinks earlier, and it kind of felt like there was a knife in his back so…

Leif moved to the kitchen behind him, and Tobin could feel him watching as he scanned over the bottles of liquor in his collection. 

“It’s not really a promotion. Just- a change of scenery.”

“And pretty much guaranteeing the sixth floor takes the bake-off, but whatever. You know we’re not going down without a fight, right?” Tobin took up the bottle of vodka, nodding appreciably at it. 

That would hit the spot. 

“Of course.” Leif cleared his throat again, and Tobin muttered a thank-you at the sight of clean shot glasses waiting on the counter for him. He didn’t even sound begrudging.

He had to deserve an Oscar or some shit at this rate.

“I mean, The Chirp is your baby and all that, but it’s Joan’s too,” Tobin continued after a beat, pouring generously into each glass and letting just a bit of edge slip into his tone as he did. “And I wouldn’t want to take her on in a custody battle if you know what I’m saying.”

“I could use that shot now.”

He was trying to make a joke, but Tobin could hear the earnest undercurrent to it. 

It was unfair that he could be this mad and this hurt and still know this man better than pretty much anyone. Tobin’s only comfort was that he knew regardless of whatever else was happening with them that Leif knew him just as well in return. Which meant he’d know just how much he’d fucked up here. 

Whether he’d do anything about it was up in the air, but what else was new? 

“Cheers.”

They clinked glasses as they always did and liquor sloshed onto the counter. Tobin took a sip of his, watching as Leif downed his own drink with one hand and reached for a paper towel to clean up the spill with the other. He was angry, so he let his eyes linger on the lean, sharp line of Leif’s arm, the efficiency with which he cleaned up, the way his eyes rose when he was done, equal parts keen and conciliatory. 

“Maybe another spot will open up on floor six. Or I could try talking to Max again. You could come with me.”

“Nah. I actually kind of dig working under bangin’ women, bro. You know how it is.”

And he knew what loyalty was, knew how fucked it would be to walk and leave the team in even more of a lurch than they were already. 

As tempting as that seafood bar was- and shit, his mouth was watering just thinking about the food he’d snagged from the sixth floor.

“You’re bringing me shrimp. And lobster.”

“OK.”

The word hung then dissipated, and they stood there together leaning against the counters in the kitchen long into its wake, into the TV timing out and the last drop cleared from Tobin’s glass, into the silence growing near-tangibly between them.

Tobin considered the bottle of vodka again, then seized it, raised it to Leif like a challenge, a mock-salute. 

“I’m going to see how much farther I can get in the re-watch, dude.”

“I’ve got to get at least a few hours of sleep,” Leif said immediately. It was barely a protest, and Tobin shrugged one shoulder at it, passing him with just a quick glance, a minute nudge of the bottle into Leif’s side as he brushed by. 

Leif fell into step with him, and at least some things didn’t change. 

When Leif started drifting off an episode later and Tobin’s eyes were drifting more and more to him than to the onscreen action, he swiped his knuckles against the bowl of popcorn kernels still tucked between them and watched it spill. Watched Leif startle awake and palm his hair and promptly begin picking up.

It was the small victories that counted, after all. 

Tobin made it a minute watching before he gave in and started helping out, first picking a kernel off the bottom of Leif’s cardigan and catching his eye as he cast it back into the bowl. 

He was pissed and hurt and fuck only knew what else at this hour, but he wasn’t a monster. 

Neither of them were. He knew that.

“Next episode?”

He nodded and moved the bowl away, out of reach. He could feel the space between them on the couch like its own presence. But Leif was already drifting into it, head tilted at a ridiculous angle against the top of the couch, just a couple inches shy of Tobin's shoulder. Tobin moved a little closer despite himself, if only to help prop a dude up. 

“Last one, promise.”

He was going to have to drink so much hot sauce tomorrow. 

And deal with Zoey and a rampaging Joan basically solo. 

Fuck. 

Tobin slumped further into the cushion behind him, and Leif leaned into him like he always did, eyes closed even as he muttered some half-hearted comment on a scene that had ended five minutes ago, and he was so beyond fucked that this still felt nice, that the camaraderie was still warm like vodka on the back of his tongue, even when he was this pissed. And he was pissed. 

But they’d get to that. 

Tobin triple checked both their phones to make sure alarms were set, batteries good, and the volume up, then settled back and let the rest go for the moment. Leif’s fist fell, loosely curled, and landed against the back of Tobin’s hand. He shook his head but didn’t move back. 

The Mandalorian marched on, and Tobin watched the light and shadow move over Leif’s face as much as he watched the next episode. He didn’t know he was falling asleep until he’d woken up, Leif sprawled awkwardly on the other side of the couch, his legs tucked behind Tobin’s, a couple blankets over them both. Like weekends they’d spent in high school, warm and close, passing books and laptops between them. Like college, bunked down in the library on those gnarly school-sanctioned bean bags, flashcards and the bluetooth stereo and puzzles and sex jokes. 

He swallowed, squeezed his eyes closed, and let the memories of that easy equilibrium carry him back into sleep. Leif would be gone when he woke up again- he always diligently got up first- but the blankets and couch would still hold the warmth from this. Tobin would, too.

For now, his dreams came for him quickly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find my capricious, multi-fandom ass on the tumblr at LunalitSol. 
> 
> Also, should any Vitality readers find themselves here, I swear that’s still coming along and give my solemn word that I will not start another novel length epic until that one is finished. 
> 
> Take care of yourselves everyone ❤️


	2. Never a Saint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: drinking; profanity; some allusions to issues with consent; innuendo/extremely mild sexual content; general drunken dumbassery; some commentary on bisexuality, heteronormativity, etc..

_State of Grace _

_**C** hapter **T** wo:_

_Never a Saint_

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Leif was already leaving when Tobin got up to their floor (or his, now), standing a foot back from the elevator with a box tucked under one arm and a distant, polite smile that flashed to genuine warmth and back again when their eyes met.

“Transfer paperwork’s done. I’m getting ready to head up.”

No shit. 

“Yeah, I inferred that from the box, bro.” 

But a lot of his anger from last night had subsided between the morning light and the ache of a hangover shrouding Tobin’s skull, leaving the jab more friendly than not. Shit, he nearly sounded kind. 

Oh well. He didn’t actually like being mean to Leif- Zoey was a much more fun target for that sort of thing, and the thrill had been leaving even that lately. Maybe this was what it felt like to be morphing into a better person. 

Gross. 

Man, he could use a shot of his special sauce right about now. Maybe hide a few more of Zoey’s pens while he was at it. That always made him feel better. Sure, he was new and improved Tobin 2.0, but he wasn’t completely neutered. A man had to get his jollies somewhere, and seeing as sex was a no-go in the workplace for any number of reasons Tobin had discussed with his HR-fave, Susan, at length, he figured his pen-hiding shenanigans were innocuous enough to let fly.

“Right.” Leif’s free arm nudged into Tobin’s lightly. “How’s the hangover?”

“How’s yours?”

“Touché.” 

Leif grinned at him, and Tobin grinned back, bumping their shoulders. He could almost pretend his friend wasn’t going anywhere. That he wasn’t being ditched.

_Focus._

“I pilfered a bottle of sauce from your stash.”

“Dog.”

Their arms were still sort of touching with how close they were, and Leif’s eyes were glinting ocean-blue, and Tobin felt awesome- shit, his head was barely even hurting-, and then Leif’s gaze flickered to a spot over his shoulder and promptly shut down. 

It was basically impossible not to take it personally when he stepped back, putting some distance between them, and hit the button for the elevator again; but, Tobin was chill. They were chill.

“Ping me when you get set up?”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously not, you mean,” a voice interrupted, feminine and forceful in the way only one person on this floor could pull off. 

Joan. Terrific timing as always. The woman was like a bloodhound for sniffing and snuffing out unauthorized joy.

“Joan,” Tobin crowed, aiming for casual, a little joke-y. Very on-brand and hopefully distracting from the fact that there was no way in hell he was giving up correspondence with his boy Leif through the day just because they were going to be on different floors. 

Joan made a noise that was somehow both skeptical and noncommittal, and Tobin shifted on his feet, uncomfortable in the sudden tension even he could sense.

“Right,” Joan said. “This would be a great time to make your way to your desk and start your workday, since you are at work, and we are paying you to work. You can be friends with Leif again when we finish obliterating floor six in the bake-off. Now. Zoey isn’t in yet, and we need all hands on deck.”

“Got it, boss.” 

Tobin grabbed Leif’s wrist briefly, squeezing it and meeting his eyes, then fled to the bullpen. It’d be cool as hell to try and ride Leif’s coattails up to floor six, escort him to his new team and give those guys a look that would somehow manage to say not to mess with his best friend _and_ that the position of Leif’s BFF was solidly filled, thanks. Then grab some of those sick crab legs. 

But new and improved Tobin was actually kind of great, and he was going to put his nose to the grindstone and walk away. 

He was also going to do whatever Joan told him to; Tobin did _not_ want to be on her bad side. Not more than he usually was, anyway. 

The Chirp was freaking all-consuming, and between the rest of the team’s laser focus, the complex coding, and the massive bowl of cereal Tobin had set just within arm’s reach, he could almost ignore the empty space behind him. Almost. 

This was going to suck balls. 

Tobin snagged a spoonful of colorful cereal heaven and reviewed the strand of code in front of him critically, keying in a couple fixes, before pulling up his Slack window and shooting just a quick, _“Yo, you sick of working under Max yet?”_ at Leif before going back to the code and trying not to think about every passing second between sending the message and…

The ping of a response made him grin an embarrassing amount, so it was fortunate none of the people who would have normally noticed to give him shit were here. 

_“Max actually seems strangely adept in this managerial role. It’s an improvement from working under Zoey already.”_

Well, that was hard to imagine, but it probably had more to do with the (dumb but super entertaining) feud Leif had going with Red than anything else. Still, would it kill a dude to sound a little more miserable maybe?

“ _It does suck not having you here, though.”_

That was more like it. 

_“Lunch together?”_

_“I wish. I have a first-day welcome lunch with Max on my schedule.”_

_“That sounds boring af bro. Your loss.”_ Tobin paused, took another bite of his cereal, and considered his work for a moment before pulling the chat window back up to add, “ _Max going to be your new best friend now? I heard he and Zoey are still fighting, so the spot’s open…”_

_“Are you kidding? It’s Max, dude. There’s no way.”_

Yeah, well, Tobin had thought there was no way Leif would spring a change of floors on him, so, what did that really say about anything?

_“Sucks to suck.”_

_“We’re getting Mexican to go in about a half-hour. I could bring you back some if you want.”_

Tobin knew a peace offering when he saw one, and it just so happened Leif knew exactly the kinds of offers Tobin couldn’t refuse. 

_“Oh, I want.”_

_“We can meet on five when I get back.”_

_“Cool.”_

It was a lot easier to focus with the promise of Leif and a burrito on the horizon. 

Even a flustered looking Zoey rushing by the bullpen to Joan’s office without so much as a cursory glance back over their team could kill his vibe. 

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

After lunch, the rest of the day passed easier. It still kind of sucked, but not as much as he’d thought it would. It helped that Leif seemed both calmer and more contrite than he’d been before when they met up. So much so, Tobin wasn’t even mad when Leif ducked out on their post-work gaming an hour earlier than usual to hole up in his room with his vlog. Tempted to watch said vlog even though he was under strict orders not to use the access he’d been given outside of a Taken-level emergency? Obvi. But mad? Nah.

The fact that he’d been able to utterly annihilate Leif in smash bros ultimate tonight- twice- might have a little do with it, too. Shit, all things considered, the day could really be counted as a win.

A throat cleared behind him as he was just about done detonating the fuck out of CPU Snake at a quarter to midnight, and Tobin did his level best to pretend his jump at the sound was just an eagerness to pause the game and avoid fucking up his flow. 

“What are you still doing up?”

“Can’t sleep.”

Leif had his drawing pad held tight to his side, a thumb tucked between pages to hold his spot, and Tobin was pretty sure that the translation to that excuse was he’d really been too caught up in whatever he was sketching out to even try for rest, but it wasn’t like he was in a position to judge. Instead of calling him out, Tobin held up the switch pro controller and tapped it against Leif’s forearm. 

“Wanna tag in?”

“No, I,” Leif cleared his throat again and came around the couch, sitting down too stiffly and far too far away to be any good. Tobin’s nerves leaped and he automatically compensated by throwing a pillow at Leif’s head, just in case. 

If he was about to say he was leaving SPRQ-point entirely now or some shit… 

“I actually had an idea I wanted to run by you.”

Leif’s stare met his, steady and tired with an edge of imploring Tobin was pretty sure he alone could spot a mile away, and Tobin felt his head tilt as he took it in. As he maybe possibly let his eyes trace over the unusually rumpled hair, the absurd pokemon trainer pajama pants he’d bought Leif last Christmas and equally absurd Detective Pikachu T-shirt (that was definitely still snug across his chest even a dozen wears later), before rising back to the curve of Leif’s mouth, the bleary blue of his irises. 

The question was suspect as hell, but ok. He was game to hear a man out, especially when he looked like that.

Which sounded a lot more...something... than it probably should for his very platonic best bro, but what the hell? It was late, and it had been a minute since he’d gotten laid, and that was just kind of the effect Leif had on people when he wasn’t busy making them into nemeses. A solid fifteen plus years of friendship, and Tobin was mostly used to it, but every once in a while even he wasn’t immune. 

Leif was also much more potent by default when his guard was this far down, the dick.

Tobin stretched out a hand speculatively toward the closed sketchbook, and Leif eyed him a moment before moving the spiral off to the side and well out of Tobin’s reach. 

“It’s nothing in there. It’s actually about The Chirp.”

OK, that was interesting. Almost as much as whatever art Tobin was apparently not allowed to see. 

He frowned. 

“I’m sorry, but I thought we were on different teams now, my man.”

Leif didn’t bother to acknowledge his goading, but Tobin saw his lower lip quiver minutely, his complexion go about half a shade whiter, and it was hella lame that he felt bad about it, but he did. 

“I know that you’re still pissed at me, and it’s, unfortunately,” Leif cleared his throat again and jutted out his chin a bit, the line of his jaw tight, pulling Tobin’s eyes. “It’s justified, I guess. I know that. However, I did get the change of scenery I needed; Ergo-”

“Ergo,” Tobin echoed, cutting him short, and Leif’s mouth quirked up on one side, his shoulders losing a little of their rigidity, breath coming out in a rush as he forged on.

“I don’t really care if the sixth floor takes the bake-off. There will be other projects. More importantly...”

It was hilarious how diplomatic he sounded.

“You guys could use the win, and you deserve it. After all, The Chirp originated on four with Joan and I, and it was always meant to stay there. And it was kind of my fault that the bake-off started in the first place. So, my proposal: I’ll be done with the coding on the AR interface around noon tomorrow. If you’re game, I was thinking I could let you know when it’s done and pass it to you on the down-low.”

No way.

“Are you trolling me right now?”

“I’m totally serious, man.”

And he was, Tobin could tell. 

Far be it for him to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what the fuck?

“Leif, you know, I may be pissed about you leaving, but we’re still best friends. That wouldn’t change just because of you fucking us over on a work project, man. I mean, I know you. None of this has been exactly out of character.” 

“Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome!” Tobin paused, considering, then stood and moved down the couch so he could sit closer. “But I’m serious, bro. You could get in some big ass trouble if you get caught. You could, like, lose your job.”

“So, we don’t get caught,” Leif said simply, then, a little slyly, he added, “You do love a covert operation.”

Oh, hell yeah he did.

Tobin paused, just to add a little suspense, then grinned at Leif, standing and offering a hand. 

“Alright, you got me. I’m sold. Now, where are we holding our clandestine exchanges?”

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

The thrill of working with Leif again in some capacity andgetting to commit a kind of pseudo heist half-crime while impressing the hell out of both Joan and Zoey was so great that Tobin wasn’t even phased by the news the next day of Max taking his best friend for drinks after work. Actually, the image was entertaining as hell; Tobin was almost sorry he had to miss it.

Leif had promised when they met up for their first Chirp coding hand-off on five that if anything interesting happened, Tobin was the first person he’d tell. Honestly, what more could a guy ask for? 

Plus, this meant he had the apartment to himself for a good few hours after work, time Tobin planned to use to the fullest. He shot out a few “U up?” texts on the off chance he could score with a human in addition to his hand, then grabbed a beer and threw on the first season of some trashy Netflix reality show Leif would have judged the hell out of him for watching. 

All of the women and the one dude he’d texted had responded with some variant of “busy, maybe later” to his come-on ( _lame_ but not surprising provided the data on that particular move), and Tobin was a solid four episodes deep into his reality binge when his phone went off again. 

Why the hell was Max Richman calling him?

“Go for Tobin.”

“Hey, man.”

Ugh. The man sounded uncomfortable and try-hard even saying hello. It was the kind thing Tobin used to say made him and Zoey a match in social-awkwardness heaven. Or Hell, really; it could definitely be considered torture to listen to the two of them sometimes...

“So,” Max hedged after a beat passed without Tobin prompting anything more from him. “I cannot for the life of me get a straight answer out of Leif about where he lives? And I was pretty sure I remembered something about you guys being roommates?”

Oh, nevermind, this was hilarious. 

“How drunk did you get him?”

“I had very little to do with it, honestly.”

“I’ll shoot you the address.”

Tobin didn’t bother tidying up beyond tossing his couple empty beer bottles in with their recycling and swapping the reality TV for something a little more Leif-speed, more to counter a potential tangent than anything else. He was kind of hoping Max had just called Leif an Uber or something, but he was the kind of obnoxious do-gooder type that seemed a lot more likely to drive a brother home when he was that wasted. Which- ok. That was cool, and yeah, Tobin would obviously prefer his best friend made it home safely. But, still, Max Richman was not going to get Tobin to put a shirt back on by showing up here. 

He was going to put on pants, because Max didn’t really deserve the privilege of seeing him without, but that was where Tobin drew the line. 

There were a few raps against the front door, then the sound of the knob turning.

“Uh, hey, Tobin. Could I get a hand?”

Oh, Jesus. 

Tobin didn’t bother trying to make a snappy retort, though he hoped Max got the idea of how absurd this whole thing was nevertheless. He had to prioritize more important things over dragging Max.

Things like Leif, who had somehow managed to contort himself to be partially on the floor and partially leaning into a wall, his hair nowhere near as neatly coiffed as it had been this morning. He looked peeved as hell, face fixed into a glower that was very much pointed the way of his new manager. 

Looked like the honeymoon period with Max was over, huh? This was great. Shit, at this rate, maybe they’d be working together for real again. 

He should probably try to be a little less ecstatic about that idea.

“I took his phone,” Max volunteered, passing it to Tobin and flatly ignoring the daggers being glared at him. “He wouldn’t stop trying to call Joan about, ahem… their work together. On the Chirp? And then he kept trying to call the karaoke DJ from the bar.”

“He told me to call him,” Leif announced, voice petulant as he maneuvered himself slowly upright.

“To hook up with you,” Max added slowly, finally addressing the drunken elephant in the room. Giraffe? “When you were sober.”

“I am sober enough.”

“No, you’re not,” Tobin interjected cheerfully. 

“OK, no, I’m not. God.”

Tobin went to him, tugging Leif’s arm until he had gotten it to drape over Tobin’s shoulders and then wrapping his arm around the other man’s waist. 

“I can’t believe I missed drunken-karaoke Leif. That’s, like, one of my favorites.”

“I’m sure there’s video of me making a fool out of myself. Or Zoey can tell you all about it tomorrow. She loves telling people about things that are none of their business.”

Tobin fully expected Max to jump in at that, but when he glanced over, the dude was just watching, one hand jammed into a pocket, the other hanging loosely by his side. 

“How sober are you?” Tobin asked him, squinting. He finished walking Leif over to the couch and gently pushed him down, unable to hold back a laugh when his friend straight up flopped stomach first onto the cushions. 

“I only had a few. I might have had more, but then I found Leif and the dude from the bar making out in the bathroom and pretty much lost my appetite.”

“You got some? Good for you, buddy.”

Leif let out a muffled groan into the throw pillow and turned his head just enough to say, “I’m giving you the middle finger right now.”

“You’re really not.”

It had been a while since he’d had the privilege of witnessing Leif this plastered. Normally, that was what Spell-iversary was for. 

“You’re taking this all pretty well.”

Tobin looked up at Max, frowning. Shouldn’t he have left already?

“Max is confused about bisexuality,” Leif advised the seam between their couch cushions.

Tobin felt his forehead scrunch-up, and threw Max some side-eye for good measure. The dude looked perplexed still and a little defensive, but there was nothing mean or judgemental to his expression; so, that was something. Nevertheless, Tobin knew Leif, and he had to have given quite the speech. 

“Did you give him the Ted Talks?”

“Of course I did,” Leif said, his indignance clear, the rest all sorts of muffled. “I gave him three of them!” He was holding four fingers in Tobin's face as he said it, but who was counting?

“Yeah... all I did was say I thought he was straight, and the next thing I know, I’m getting three lectures with commentary between attempts at drunk-dialing Joan. It’s not like I have a problem with it. I just had no idea.”

“Well, dude, maybe you should get woke instead of assuming. Haven’t you had this talk with Agent Orange over Tumblr and Shirley Temples or something?” Tobin said dismissively. “It’s 2020, Maxwell Get with the program.”

“Program,” Leif repeated, and full-on giggled into the couch cushion. 

“Bro,” Tobin snickered back. He patted Leif’s head, then let his hand linger, smoothing down his sweaty hair. 

“Right,” Max said slowly. “So, I’m gonna go. Leif, buddy, you can still make it to work tomorrow, right?”

“He just called me buddy,” Leif said to the couch. “This has got to be an episode of Black Mirror or something. Tobes, you just had to insist on watching that together, and now I’m stuck in an episode.”

“You made me watch four different documentaries on clean eating. It was warranted.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys, uh, around. Later. Bye.”

Tobin waved one hand vaguely, but otherwise didn’t bother moving or looking away from Leif. When he heard the door close, however, he did pull gently at Leif’s hair and pluck at the collar of his cardigan when that failed to elicit a response. 

“What happened tonight?”

“Nothing.”

Leif grunted and rolled slightly so he was on his side and able to look at Tobin directly. Tobin’s neck and stomach felt warm- probably due to some vicarious inebriation and/or all the “relaxing” he’d done earlier.

“Yeah. You’d tell me if it wasn’t nothing, right?”

Leif’s hand rose from where it had been lolling over the edge of the couch. His fingertips brushed feather-light over Tobin’s bare shoulder then retreated hastily.

“Of course.”

It sounded like a lie. Tobin swallowed, then smiled. 

“You going to crash here or do you want some help to bed?”

A faint furrow perched itself between Leif’s eyebrows then promptly disappeared. 

“Max left my phone, right?”

“Why? You want to call that guy?”

“Text. I want to text him.”

Well, Tobin had been kidding but OK. 

“Yeah, how about I keep your phone, so you don’t do anything stupid?”

Leif sighed, reaching out again and straight-up patting the hair on Tobin’s chest. Tobin 1.0 really wanted to come out now, maybe put his hand on top of Leif’s to keep it there or…

No. Nope. Staying focused. Best friends. Platonic best friends. The absolute last thing he wanted to do was put the most important relationship in his life in jeopardy over some fleeting pheromone thing. Leif was still fucking petting his chest, though, eyes closed and eyelashes long and dark and- yeah, he needed to interfere, now. Damn. 

Tobin licked his lips, watching as Leif did, too, then rocked back just enough for Leif’s hand to drop, trying his very best to put the sensation of those fingertips falling down the line of his torso in a box and then throw the box really freaking far away. He could deal with that later. 

When had procrastinating shit stopped being his strong suit exactly?

“Sorry,” Leif muttered. 

“Better me than a random person from the bar,” Tobin joked, then froze. “You know what I mean. Bro.”

Saved it. 

“Yeah.”

His eyes were still closed, fingers fiddling with the top button on his cardigan, and Tobin wasn’t sure what to say or do to make whatever was wrong better; so, he stopped trying and settled for hauling Leif back onto his feet. 

“Come on, dude. You’re crashing with me. No funny business, alright? I’m talking middle school sleepover rules.”

“Yes, sir,” Leif intoned, lightly mocking, and Tobin elbowed him, cracking up when the gesture very nearly made him fall over. 

“I am never getting drinks with Max again.”

“Good! That’s what I’m for, man.”

“Right.” 

Tobin watched him struggle out of his collared shirt and cardigan, then plugged both their phones in. Leif had a message from some dude named Giancarlo Karaoke, the preview a supremely lame joke about kissing and Air Supply and being down for “either or both again soon” with an especially embarrassing series of emojis. 

Tobin was not jealous. 

Not even for a second.

“I’ll have more code for you tomorrow, by the way.”

Leif’s voice was sleepy, barely there, his head positively buried in Tobin’s pillow. He hadn’t bothered finding a shirt, and Tobin reached over automatically to pull the covers further up over the both of them. 

“Cool. Can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently this story has now doubled its projected length. Whoops.
> 
> I cannot thank everyone enough for their feedback on the last chapter!! I am so deeply grateful for every kudos and kind word. :) Sending you all so much love and warmth. Take care of yourselves please!
> 
> If anyone wants to holler at me about Coder Boyfriends, about any of the individual characters (because holy heck, I love all of them?), and/or about that incredible finale, you can find my lame-ass general Tumblr at LunalitSol. Stay safe everyone! So much love to each and every one of you.


	3. Shades of Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Specific Warnings: profanity; innuendo/mild sexual content; allusions to homophobia (including a mention of conversion therapy practices); reference to canon parental abandonment; some discussion of Joan/Leif with light references to workplace power disparity; spoilers through season one finale; mentions of canon main character death; etc.

State of Grace 

_**C** hapter **T** hree **:** _

_Shades of Wrong_

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Tobin woke up before any of the alarms he’d set had a chance to go off- a minor miracle if there ever was one. Normally, he’d roll back over and let himself off the hook to catch some more of those precious Z’s, maybe rub one out failing that. As far as Tobin was concerned? He was under zero obligation to do anything more than chillax one way or another in his bed until he’d hit snooze once at a minimum.

Then again, normally Leif wasn’t in his bed with him. 

The sun had just started to rise for the day, glancing off Tobin’s blinds and leaving the window-frame dappled by what light had managed to sneak its way inside. His eyes followed a ray from the split between valances to where it had found purchase on the broad, bare shoulder of the man beside him, and he scraped one hand across his eyelids to clear them, noting with only a low stirring of something he absolutely was not going to analyze how the other was splayed out on his crumpled comforter with his fingers nestled against the jut of Leif’s ribcage. 

This close, he could see the freckles and moles intermittently scattered from his shoulders to his biceps, how they were interrupted by an old scar from the fall Leif had taken the one and only time Tobin had been able to persuade him onto a skateboard. He could see the agitation on Leif’s forearm from sleeping on it, the minute rise and fall of his diaphragm with every breath, the tiny wave of stubble stretching from his cheeks down the slope of his neck pre-morning shave. Tobin’s throat felt dry and bobbed when he tried to swallow. Maybe he was getting sick?

OK, sure, if viral horniness were a thing. Shit, maybe it was. It’d make for a pretty baller pandemic. There had to be some kind of zombie porno with that as the plot point. 

If there wasn’t, he should make one; that idea was hella cash money.

Tobin touched Leif’s upper back just between his shoulder blades, pressing gently. Leif was generally a light sleeper, but drinking heavily knocked him out if it had been a while, and it had definitely been a while. All the late nights they both had a tendency to pull probably didn’t help matters. Nevertheless, he stirred at Tobin’s prodding, blinking groggily for all of five seconds before he was sitting up and scrambling to find his phone, patting at the bedcovers and the nightstand and Tobin’s leg- yeah, that needed to stop. 

“Dude, good morning to you, too, but you might want to back off a little, know what I’m saying? Unless you’re trying to give me a morning hj, which, hey, I mean, if you want to take things there, a little mutual masturbation between bros-”

Leif pulled back, face flushed just like that, and fumbled again at a nightstand, this time seizing his glasses and putting them on like armor, his fingers fussing at their bridge as he drew away to take stock of things. 

“That’s cool, too,” Tobin finished belatedly, grinning at Leif. It was probably a little too wolfish for this early in the morning, mostly to compensate for how badly that joke had landed, though admittedly also because riling Leif up totally never got old. 

“Man, take a breath. I didn’t let you sleep in, and I’ve got your phone. It’s chill.”

“Chill. Yeah, that sounds chill,” Leif repeated, eyes wide behind the frames of his glasses. 

He took a deep breath, then another, and touched two fingers gingerly to a temple. “Shit.”

“You good?” 

Leif nodded, but beneath the glow of day breaking through Tobin’s blinds, the lie was more transparent than ever. 

It was more frustrating than it maybe should have been. Zoey had told him before that real friends had hard conversations. It was something Tobin had really taken to heart, and he’d put mad effort into being more open. Leif, it seemed, was not going to return the favor. Tobin had thought maybe he just needed more time- he was, after all, notoriously stubborn. 

But Tobin was just as notoriously bad at waiting, and he was reaching his tipping point with this. They were best friends, and they needed to act like it. Leif needed to act like it. 

Leif looked over at him and smiled just a little, soft. 

“Thanks for looking out for me last night, man.”

Dammit. 

Just like that, the frustration faded, fell away.

“Yeah, of course, broseph. You know I got you.”

Leif nodded again, taking his glasses off and folding them carefully. 

“I know. And, hey, I’ve got you too. I’ll, uh, I’ll get you a bunch of code today for sure.”

Something settled low in Tobin’s stomach- a warmth, a surge of gratitude. A knot of unease. 

“Awesome,” he said. 

Something in the delivery must have been off, because Leif looked over at him, one brow crooking up ever so slightly, then he turned, moved so he was leaning into Tobin like an aborted hug, one hand coming over and squeezing his arm. Leif’s head tipped against his clavicle, rested there a moment, then drew back up. He was so close, and Tobin didn’t know what to make of any of it, but it was hard to remember to stay worried, let alone any degree of mad, with Leif’s bare chest an inch from his own, with those eyes squarely meeting his. 

“Seriously. I owe you, Tobes.”

His voice was low, still a little morning rough. 

“Yeah, you do,” Tobin retorted playfully and Leif grinned at him, standing fluidly from the bed. 

“It’s nice being on the other side of the equation, isn’t it?”

Kind of, yeah. 

“Shut up and shower, bruh. You still reek of cocktails and sweaty karaoke DJ and Max.”

Leif made a face but fled without further resistance. Tobin may or may not have watched him until the door was closed. 

Tobin’s morning commute was spent on the phone with his dad, fending off the routine questions of their twice-weekly call and maybe doing some extra bragging. He was killing it at work lately, and the novelty of telling his dad that was something else entirely; occasions like this were few and far between, and so, Tobin was going to take full advantage. Man, so what if he had some (well-deserved, really) help? His dad sounded so relieved to hear him doing well, more than he’d been since maybe before the big hack and subsequent jail sentence of 2010. 

“It sounds like you’re flourishing,” his old man said, interrupting Tobin’s explanation of the Chirp (which may or may not have been a slightly embellished copy of Leif’s usual speech). “I’m proud of you.”

Tobin’s shoulders dropped, warmth rushing his chest. His heart was pounding. God. 

“Thanks, Dad,” he said, and the sincerity felt like it could maybe fill the miles between them for a moment. 

His dad coughed. 

“Yes, well, you keep at it. Tell your friend I said congratulations, by the way.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Have you been eating much of that junk take-out lately?”

And just like that, a non-segue segue back to their regularly scheduled interrogation. Tobin laughed. 

“I’ll do some cooking at home again, soon, promise. I’ve been working late.”

“And being lazy, I’m sure.” But there was an unusual acceptance to the words, and Tobin just smiled at them, looking out the window at the SPRQ-point building he was fast approaching. 

“I’ll take pictures for evidence when I cook and send them to you.”

“If you say so,” his dad’s voice was dubious, pretty much his default mode where Tobin was concerned. “Shouldn’t you be at work already?”

“I just got here. I’ll catch you on the flip, dad. Cool?”

“I’ll expect those pictures,” his dad said, and clicked off without any further ado. Tobin shook his head, grinning despite himself, and pocketed his phone. His dad was proud of him.

He was going to work his ass off today.

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

One minute, everything was cool, Tobin was just making his usual bathroom run before meeting up with Leif for some more code; the next, he was alone on floor five wondering what the hell was going on. Leif was never late. 

This was so not cool. 

He walked the fifth floor twice, occasionally kicking at one of the stupid plastic curtains, before finally pulling out his phone. Tobin was frustrated and concerned enough that he bypassed any form of texting and dialed Leif right away, licking his lips and trying to control his nerves while the phone rang. Leif picked up right before it would have probably gone to voicemail. 

“Hey.”

“Where the hell are you, bro?”

“Tobin.”

Tobin waited a moment, but Leif didn’t continue, the silence simply rising up between them. 

“Are you safe?” he asked after a moment, despite all his best efforts to keep the question bottled up. 

“Yeah,” Leif said, some of the empty bravado in his voice faltering. “Look, I’m sorry. I’ve got to bail on the mission. I can’t give you any more code.”

“What the fuck?” 

Tobin’s voice was harsh even to his ears, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care. 

“I know.”

“Why? Dude, I already told Joan I finished the pattern file.”

“I know. I- I’ll talk to you later, man, OK? I’ll make it up to you later.”

And then Leif fucking hung-up on him. 

Tobin stared at his phone, then around the room. What the hell was he supposed to do with that? The quiet resounded, rushing, in his ears. He looked at the phone again, pulling up his recent call log and considering calling Leif back, if only to hang up on him in return. His dad’s call from this morning was right below Leif’s. 

His dad had been proud this morning, and so had Tobin; what the fuck was he now?

Well, fine, screw it. Screw Leif and his coding and his stupid, stubborn silence. Tobin was a goddamn genius, too, and he’d piece something together to keep helping his team, and Leif- Leif could just do his own thing. Whatever. 

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Tobin wasn’t sure where Joan had gone off to and why she wasn’t pestering him for the pattern file, but he’d sure as hell take her being gone mysteriously over her being here and probably yelling. Maybe he could even make up a viable replacement for the files he’d thought he had before- 

Right. Tobin was focusing. 

He was good under pressure. He’d hacked the CIA under pressure. He could create some pesky code for their image search. 

Tobin took one of his fidget toys in hand, barely paying attention to which as he immediately started turning it over and over, eyes on the computer. 

The next time Tobin looked up, it was to Zoey’s face, baffled and clearly trying to gather herself. 

“Joan said she and Ava want to talk to us all, together. Guys! Come on, get to stopping points, we have less than a minute to start walking over.”

Zoey frowned down at her phone, and Tobin nodded his agreement when he heard her mutter, “What the fuck is up with this day?” 

And then Joan and Ava were giving an inspirational speech about them all joining forces, and Leif was… Leif was offering Tobin a hug, and Tobin was moving toward him, accepting and reciprocating and practically melting. It wasn’t the explanation Leif had promised him (that would come- it better), but it felt, nevertheless, like him reaching out, extending a little bit of grace for the both of them. Joan and Ava were still waxing lyrical about their plans to unite, a more powerful and productive blah-blah-blah, and Tobin was holding onto Leif, and Leif was holding onto him. 

The fuckery of this day felt like it was reaching new heights, but shit, if it meant he and Leif could literally stand arm in arm in the middle of a work meeting, Tobin was here for it. 

Susan was going to side-eye the fuck out of him later. Worth it.

Leif messaged him less than five minutes after they’d parted ways, just a High School Musical meme spliced with an image of Ava and Joan, and Tobin shot back his own poorly made iteration with both women like heads of a hydra on Sharpay’s body, and he suspected he’d made Leif laugh despite the fact that he’d professed his absolute abhorrence for the source material more than once before. And it was good. They were good. 

For now, anyway. 

Maybe. 

That night, when Tobin got home to the grocery delivery he’d set up earlier in the day, he went pretty much right into the kitchen, stopping briefly to turn on the TV and turn the volume up on one of his favorite comfort shows that Leif was pretty much eternally irritated by. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t be home for hours, too busy working overtime to impress Ava and Max and whoever else, then biking home from there. Hell, maybe he’d stop at a park, skip dinner altogether in favor of a light snack and birdwatching, like he sometimes did. Tobin honestly wasn’t sure what he’d prefer; he both wanted Leif to come home and face him properly as promised and stay away for a while, leave them in this semi-pleasant pre-confrontation limbo. 

He didn’t cook often, partly because he did work late on a somewhat regular basis like he’d told his dad, and mostly because he was kind of lazy when it came to food, like his dad had knowingly told him. Still, when he was this preoccupied (or trying very hard not to be), Tobin didn’t mind busying himself in the kitchen for a while, and he’d made a promise before, anyway- so it worked out. 

Cooking was just another sequence he could put together and tweak until everything ran precisely how he’d like.

Leif got home two hours later, forehead sweaty, binoculars still around his neck, and his sketchbook in hand, open like he’d been reviewing his work on his way up to their place. All of which meant he’d almost definitely been birding to put off facing Tobin. Great minds really did think alike, huh?

“Hey,” Leif called out a moment after he’d come in and shut the door behind himself, pausing there and pulling a breath deep enough Tobin could hear it, could see it even in his periphery as he rapidly looked away. “So, Ancient Aliens and curry?”

“Butter chicken,” Tobin retorted, forcing his eyes to remain firmly away from where he could hear Leif approaching. 

“Look, obviously, you’re still mad.”

Well, sure, kind of. 

Ok, yes. No shit. Hugs were great, especially where Leif was involved; a cure-all, however, they were not.

“I’m sorry, man. I should have warned you somehow. But you have to understand...”

Tobin shot Leif a glance as he trailed off, clearly trying to pick and choose his words precisely- politically-, and packed it with all the indifference he could muster. It probably wasn’t as much as it should have been. 

“It’s no biggie. You’ve got to do you, right, dude? I mean, obviously, you shouldn’t have lied to me or whatever you were doing. But I’m basically over it, bro. I mean, I want the explanation of what the hell is up with you finally, but other than that? Over it. Water under the bridge.”

Leif stared at him. 

“You don’t seem over it.”

Tobin shrugged one shoulder and went to take another bite of his food, pausing just long enough to hold his phone up and flip the camera to face him as he took a pic for his dad. He could see Leif in the background, his mouth a pressed line, helmet and sketch pad both still in hand, his eyebrows low and furrowed.

He considered deleting the pic, but uploaded it to his Insta instead for posterity’s sake, then took another for his dad, carefully angling his phone this time to ensure there were no hot, anxious photo-bombers for his pops to ask after. 

“OK, well. I know I said I’d tell you what went down, but I’m really tired, and I’d really like to just… pick this up in the morning, maybe? If that’s alright with you.” Leif said after another moment. 

Of course. So, that was how it was still going to be, huh?

“Go ahead.”

It was on the tip of Tobin’s tongue to ask him if he wanted to at least take some of the buttered chicken with, but then, Leif was a stickler about the no-eating-in-the-bedrooms policy he’d instilled way back when, and it wasn’t like Leif’s eating habits were his business anyway. More leftovers for him. Whatever. 

“Tobes.”

Tobin sighed, paused the show, and turned to look at Leif expectantly.

“I’m sorry if I’ve sucked as a friend lately,” Leif tried. 

He looked a little meek and pretty sincere, but only on the surface. Tobin couldn’t read him below that like he’d always been able to when they were kids. 

Tobin felt pretty confident saying he knew Leif better than anyone else in the world, and vice versa, and yet more and more he was finding there were depths he could no longer see down to, and things that the both of them kept buried. He was trying to change that, to be better. They didn’t do secrets, or they weren’t supposed to. 

Leif was very clearly not holding up his end of that particular bargain. 

Tobin looked him over, examined him, and decided to extend the olive branch anyway. 

“You’ve mostly just sucked today. So, why have you? Talk to me, dude. Not in the morning, now. It doesn’t have to be some big thing.”

“I, uh, Joan caught me. She found out I was passing code to you and confronted me, while I’m assuming you were in the bathroom still? Anyway, she told me to stop. So, I did.”

It was Tobin’s turn to stare.

“Bro, what?”

It kind of felt like the world was narrowing. 

“Joan-” Leif said again and stopped short, cut himself off, shook his head. 

“Are you-”

“I think she’s going to cover for me,” Leif said hastily, shifting his weight so he was leaning into his doorframe. “I don’t know for sure, though.”

They were both silent again for a beat, just watching one another. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that?” Tobin asked finally, and he knew he sounded hurt, and he knew he was kind of calling Leif out. 

Real friends had hard conversations. 

“You haven’t been telling me stuff, man. For a while, now. You could have just said something. I mean, even now, Joan’s just covering for you? No strings? Bro, there’s more to the story than you’re saying. We both know it, and you know you can trust me. So, dude, why aren’t you?”

Then, as if an afterthought, “You’re isolating.”

Leif’s facade cracked for a second, and he looked heartbroken, and then he pulled himself together just as fast, and Tobin stood before he could think twice, starting toward his friend.

“I’m sorry,” Leif said again, then swallowed, gripping his helmet and his doorframe so hard Tobin could see the ridge of a tendon standing at attention in his arm. 

“Leif, man-”

“I’m sorry. I’m really tired.”

Tobin stopped just a few feet from Leif, then reached out to grasp his shoulder, looking into his eyes deliberately, questioningly. He looked away, clearing his throat as he gently took Tobin’s hand from his shoulder and stepped back, putting space between them once more. 

“I’m gonna go to bed.”

Tobin swallowed, trying to quell the hurt surging again, to pull straight his own mask. He wasn’t used to wearing it at home, but he could. If he had to, he could.

God, they were both crazy smart, and yet, here they were, and this was so, so stupid.

“In the morning, we’ll talk more. Tobes, man, I promise. It’s the weekend, right? I’m not going anywhere.”

A breath, both of them, in the too tiny space between their bodies and the too tiny space of their apartment.

“Goodnight.”

Leif’s eyes were apologetic but his hands firm as he closed his bedroom door between them. 

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

“A flirtation?” Tobin repeated dubiously. “You’re telling me you and Joan-”

Leif shrugged one shoulder, that stupid simper plastered on his face like Tobin couldn’t see right through it, like he hadn’t spent over a decade with virtually every version there was of this man. Sometimes, he wondered if Leif just chose to forget how well they knew each other, all the commemorative plates and shared mementos, the hours they’d whittled all through their formative years on gaming while they talked trash and talked life and sex and everything in between. They’d seen one another at their highest, sometimes literally, and their lowest. 

He’d been the one Leif had crashed with that weekend after he’d started considering coming out to his parents only to back out after an enlightening dinnertime defense of so-called conversion therapy bullshit. Leif was the one he’d gone to when his mom left, who’d skipped school for the first and last time to be with him. 

And yet, of all the things that could put more distance between them than even jail-time had managed, Leif was really sitting here saying he’d put that distance between them because of the issues addressed around the Spell-iversary bail-out and a mild, extended flirtation with their hot boss?

Tobin didn’t totally know what to think, but nah. He wasn’t buying _that_.

“Anyway, she caught on that I was siphoning code down to you and instructed me to stop in a...very intimidating… pow-wow on the fifth floor. I guess we’ll find out on Monday how it all plays out, but all things considered, I’m assuming if she was going to turn me in, I’d be fired already.”

Tobin stared at how Leif’s hand held the mug of coffee in front of him. 

It was easier to focus on than anything else really. 

“And why couldn’t you tell me?” he asked finally.

Leif’s fingers tightened on the handle of his mug. 

“Man, you know me. I was embarrassed.” 

Tobin did know him, and he knew it was more than that. 

“Besides, you’re not the best with secrets,” Leif said after a moment, and Tobin caught his eye, how the corner of his mouth pulled up and in, conspiratorial-like. He felt his own lips tug up in response.

“True, but you know when it’s important, I got you.”

“I know.”

And Tobin believed he did, but the rest of it? 

Leif was a good liar, but he wasn’t good enough, and Tobin could practically smell the bullshit. He just didn’t know where, specifically, it was coming from. Leif was far too good at constructing a haystack of truths and half-truths around a well-disguised needle of BS. 

He’d figure it out, though. Detective Batra on the freaking case. 

If Leif couldn’t get the spine up to just be straight with him, anyway. 

“How do you feel about taking a break? We could play some Better World, for old time’s sake.”

Between the eyes and the offer, how exactly was he supposed to resist? Shit, he could play and detective simultaneously. Tobin Batra was a man of many talents, yo. A jack of all trades. A renaissance man for the modern age. A freaking Avenger of hackers, like Thor with his rubber hammer, and, man he could use that right about now. They could both probably use a hit to the head with it.

“Tobes?” Leif was crossing and uncrossing his legs, twisting around in that anxious way of his. “Do you want me to keep talking or are you cool if we play? Or is there something else, maybe? Seriously, anything I can do to make it up to you.”

“Nah, dude. Better World sounds dope. I’m in.”

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Monday, Leif was down on the fourth floor again, and Max had apparently been made their accidental scapegoat and been _fired_ for their crimes, and Joan was barely there, and Zoey was barely there, and then wasn’t there at all, and then she was on bereavement, and Joan was somehow getting promoted (and, boy, Leif did _not_ like his joke about her having her own flirtation to nab Danny Michael Davis’ job). 

And Tobin and Leif were talking, but were they? 

Sure, Tobin hadn’t put a lot of effort into his sleuthing. So sue him. He’d been busy coding like a damn boss and trying to provoke as many smiles as he could out of Leif and slowly scavenging for Zoey’s stolen pens throughout the nest.

So far, he’d found twenty of them, which only left, like, twenty-nine to go. 

Not his fault the girl had a seemingly endless and extremely enticing supply of “writing instruments”, as she’d so awkwardly worded it when they met. Well- not totally his fault, at least.

So, he’d been busy. Maybe a little bit, just a little, he was also avoiding his self-proclaimed case. Leif was doing kind of mostly OK, and so was Tobin, and Tobin’s dad was even still proud of him and maybe he didn’t want to backslide. Maybe he didn’t want to jeopardize what precious progress they’d made.

Maybe he was scared. Maybe he didn’t want to be right about Leif’s lying and, par for the course really, was trying very hard to compensate for his fear by focusing elsewhere and cracking jokes when all else failed.

He couldn’t think of a joke right now. 

“This is all,” Susan was saying, “totally under the radar for now. With the fact that Joan is taking over for Danny Michael Davis and no complaints have actually been issued, we’ve been told to keep things very hush-hush. It’s all preliminary, he-said, she-said nonsense. But if anyone would know if our sources are right and our new CEO was sleeping with a subordinate up until recently, I thought it would be you. Especially as the trail seems to be pointing to Leif Donnelly as the underling in question, and I know how tight you are with him.”

She tilted her chai, along with her head, his direction. 

“Spill the tea, Batra.”

He had nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to extend my most heartfelt gratitude for every read, every kudos, and, especially, every comment. Between anxiety and the whole single-parent shindig (and being sick), I may not reply properly, so please know that every single response to this means the world to me. Especially in the current climate, anyone putting their time into reading my work is so, so appreciated. I hope you're all staying safe and taking care of yourselves. As always, feel free to hit up my lame general Tumblr, LunalitSol, if you need anything or just want to talk or rant about Zoey (and the extreme frustration of waiting for an official renewal). 
> 
> I'm afraid I'd fucked up the canon timeline when I was first writing this chapter, so I had to re-work a bunch of it, and I don't think it's as good as I wanted to make it or as it was in the original iteration, but I hope this was still decent for y'all. Sending so much love and warm thoughts to each and every one of you.


	4. The Armor Falls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings: Profanity; innuendo/moderate sexual content; allusions to homophobia/biphobia; references to canon parental abandonment; references to unhealthy relationships including possible dubcon; spoilers through season 2 episode 5 (ish); mentions of canon main character death; fairly prolific use of alcohol; mention of cannabis (medical); etc.  
> **A note: I use both he/him pronouns and she/her for Mo in this chapter, as I rewatched an episode the other day where Mo was referred to with both (and of course already knew character was down as genderfluid). I want to warn for this just so it's clear there is no misgendering being done to the best of my knowledge. If the character is at any point clarified to use just he/him/his pronouns or any other variation, I will edit accordingly.

State of Grace 

**_C_** _hapter_ **_F_** _our:_

_The Armor Falls_

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

“Hey, you OK?”

Tobin grinned reflexively, only half looking up from his screen despite the unexpected amount he’d missed having Zoey around as manager. It had been a long six weeks without her.

Tobin could feel Leif just a handful of feet away, could see him tense in his peripheral vision, back somehow even straighter than before, pretending he wasn’t listening. 

Let him fucking pretend. They were both getting good at that lately.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Zoey’s answering smile was wry and paper-thin, but there and nice. 

“You can. I’m getting there.”

“Cool. But you know if you ever want to hit a club and pound some drinks... I’ll probably be there already, so you can just find me, a’ight?”

“Yeah. Uh, cool. Back at you? But not at a club, because I’m almost never at clubs, but-”

“This is getting weird,” Tobin cut her off, more gently than he’d meant to be; he grinned and tacked on a cheeky, “Boss,” to undercut the excessive sincerity.

Ain’t nobody down with that, and definitely not Tobin Batra, incomparable slacker comedian that he was.

“Yep. That it is. It is- that. Just, great. This was great. Good to be back!”

She pulled on the sleeves of her blazer, a cobalt blue that Tobin automatically compared to Leif’s eyes before remembering he was not about that ish right now, and smiled again at him, so bright and wide it looked painful. Certainly, it was for him. 

“Oh! And Tobin-” Zoey had begun walking toward Joan’s office, then quickly paced back a few steps to be close to his desk again. “The dogs, I’m assuming those were your idea?”

He may have sent Leif some links, may have dropped some comments, forwarded some articles and videos. 

He’d technically driven Leif to visit the organization they’d gotten the dogs from and helped arrange getting them here. 

Classified information, and Leif owed him in like five thousand different ways, so...

“I plead the fifth.”

Zoey nodded, lips pulling together and puffing out in a skeptical simper. 

“Mmkay. Well, they will be going. So, say your sayonaras.”

She finger-gunned at him, then swiftly left once again, this time beelining it to be where Joan stood, arms crossed, in the conference room. Ugh. 

Tobin shook his head, readjusting his headphones back into position.

“Did she just say sayonaras?”

Leif. 

Tobin bumped the knuckles of one hand into his desk, the other tapping the headphones he’d just put back into place. 

“Can’t hear ya, bruh.”

Leif stepped into his line of vision, eyes narrow, piercing, then just nodded once and retreated. His hand brushed over Tobin’s bicep, applying brief, light pressure. 

Tobin had to force himself not to turn around. 

He’d already overheard Leif get promoted. Already gotten himself chastised for all the shit with George. There was nothing Leif could need from him right now. 

He’d made that pretty clear by not confiding in Tobin when he was getting it on with their freaking boss. If Susan hadn’t said anything, Tobin wouldn’t even know. 

It had been over a month since that convo, several since the whole Leif and Joan sexual saga, and it was whatever. It was water under the bridge. But, yeah, Tobin was maybe still pissed. Whatever.

Tobin switched his tunes back on, directing his attention to the code in front of him for a solid three minutes before he couldn’t do it anymore. 

“Yo, I’m playing foosball,” he tossed over his shoulder in Leif’s general direction. 

“Cool, I’ll join you!”

“I’ll kick your ass,” he told Leif, grinning at him with all his teeth. 

He was still getting his, in his own way. It was the little things. 

But maybe he could be a little less of a dick to the non-Leif people around him- maybe.

“George, get in here! Help me out. We gotta take the new manager down a peg!”

“That, I can do,” George said immediately, sounding giddy. 

Good. And Tobin could do this. 

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

It turned out George and Tobin made for a sweet tag team. 

Sometimes, Tobin suspected Zoey must have some kind of superpower with how often she managed to be right, how she always seemed to know what they all needed right in the eleventh hour. 

All of them but herself, because yeesh- girlboss had lost it more in the last month than she ever had before she’d taken over the fourth floor. 

Before her dad died, Tobin reminded himself when he was sending back baseball uniforms and feeling especially uncharitable. Tobin knew what it was not to have a parent- thanks mom!- but he knew nothing of losing a beloved one to the other side. He was trying to give Red a little grace. Anyway, Leif was the direct supervisor now, and he was even more fun to mess with. 

It wasn’t Tobin’s fault he happened to know all his boy’s weak spots, all the right things to say to make Leif cave. Work was more fun than it had been in some time. Maybe not the most productive, not as good as he’d once been trying to make it, but fun nevertheless. SPRQ-Point was going broke and everything was a mess, so no-one could really blame him for trying to give them all a good time, right?

“This is a fantastic idea,” George said, exuberant and warm and extra as ever as he leaned against Leif’s desk, fingers flexing in a bowl of cranberries. 

“Thank you, thank you. I try.” 

Tobin glanced around them one more time, reaching for Leif’s helmet and holding it under one arm as he did his best to look nonchalant. He could feel McKenzie’s eyes on him, see Yasmeen shaking her head in his periphery, but the bros were paying him no mind. At least some people here knew how to be cool. 

“These are so squishy,” George observed with way too much delight. 

Some people. 

“Yeah, man. Here, hurry.”

Tobin scooped a few pens from Leif’s drawer, then held his hand out to George, who dropped them into his palm after maybe half a beat. 

“Excellent. Here, put some in that, too.”

He dropped the helmet back onto the desk, scooting it George’s way before returning to the task at hand. It was easy enough making several pens into cranberry skewers, and Tobin dropped the completed ones into a row, pausing just long enough to take a few shots for his insta. 

“Amazing,” George told him. 

“Isn’t it, though?” 

Tobin offered his fist for a bump, then scanned the desk one more time. 

That was real baller shit. Leif’s reaction would be hilarious. 

“What’s amazing are the things these dudes get away with,” he heard one of the new coders, Cass, mutter to another. 

Like these noobs had any idea. 

Tobin thought of Leif and Joan, how they’d probably banged in the stupid office. Kissed several times. Susan had had it from a trusted source that someone had seen them making out in the conference room once. Not that any of it made a difference now- Joan was already promoted and gone to Singapore, and Ava Price was just gone, so HR had decided not to pursue the matter further. But Tobin was still imagining it, and he was still pissed. 

He shouldn’t be so stuck on this. It wasn’t like Leif’s weird preoccupation with authority figures was anything new. He could still remember the months he’d had to spend listening to Leif talk about the not one, but two whole-ass faculty members he’d gone off the deep-end for in his freshman year of college. Shit, Tobin probably still had the letters Leif had sent him somewhere. It had been nice being written to in prison and all, but he’d found pretty quickly that his dramatic best friend was even more extra with paper and pen. His sordid affair with some nearing-forties professor back when Leif was on the cusp of nineteen and newly out to his family wasn’t something they really talked about anymore, but Tobin recalled it as vividly as he had when all that shit went down in the first place. Same with the secret relationship Leif had for two months their junior year of high school. The crush he’d had on the college chick that sat in on one of his classes all the way back in tenth grade. 

There was history here these women knew nothing about, and that Tobin knew like the palm of his damn hand. 

And maybe that wasn’t fair but what was he supposed to do about it? The Brogrammars had a vibe and had all been working in close quarters for years, even forgetting that Tobin and Leif had been best friends for closer to twenty years than not. They couldn’t expect them all to be a hunky-dory team overnight, especially when it seemed like none of them were on the same page, or like they’d even bothered to skim the chapters that had come before. 

OK, Tobin hadn’t either, but- damn it. 

“Hey, what are your socials?” 

Cass wrinkled her nose, shooting a look at Yasmeen beside her, then McKenzie. 

“Why?”

McKenzie was being confrontational, but Tobin wasn’t about to take the bait. 

“Programmers gotta stick together, right? Thought it might be a good way to get to know each other, team building shit and so on. No presh.”

McKenzie narrowed her eyes at him. 

“Fine. I’ll shoot you my handles on slack. No dick pics, though.”

Tobin clutched his chest in mock-offense, pretending the sting of that one was just superficial. They really thought he was just some skeevy piece of shit, huh? 

OK, so maybe he had more work to do than he’d thought. 

“Don’t worry, he saves those for Leif,” George announced, chortling. 

Yasmeen snorted, the others laughing. A couple of the dudes badly hid their own mirth. 

What the shit?

“Saves what for me?”

And talk about timing. 

“To be clear,” Tobin declared, hoping his voice still sounded cavalier, that the heat on his neck would stay the hell away from the words, “I do not send dick pics unsolicited.”

“He doesn’t,” Leif immediately confirmed, and Tobin appreciated his boy having his back and all, but that was probably not helping his case. “And, uh, why are we talking about this? This doesn’t sound very work-appropriate. Everyone. Uh, actually, I had a thought over my lunch, and if we can get some good work in tonight, I might be able to spring and get everyone an iced coffee for tomorrow morning! How does that sound?”

Oh, man. He was trying way too damn hard. 

Tobin’s chest felt full and warm and like it might explode. 

No big. 

“Think about it,” Leif added loudly when no-one really said anything. “Come on, we’ve been idling-”

Tobin shook his head, rearranging his headphones on his head and refocusing on his computer screen.

“What the- Why are there cranberries all over my stuff?”

He bit back a grin. 

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

When Tobin had vented at Leif about how their team needed a chance to bond outside of the office or _something_ if things were ever supposed to get better, a coders karaoke party had been the exact last thing on his mind. 

Knowing Leif, he really should have known better. 

“This is a mess,” Leif moaned. “You told George not to come, right?”

“Nope,” Tobin retorted cheerily, watching as Leif groaned and dropped his head into his hands, then rubbed the knuckles of one roughly into an eye. 

George had asked him about not going at least three times since the double-firing, worried it’d be awkward or something, but Tobin wasn’t having it. He got along with the guy okay, but he mostly appreciated having someone who would gleefully go along with whatever shit Tobin cooked up. He couldn’t exactly conspire with Leif against Leif- at least not most of the time. 

Besides, he’d been looking for an excuse to drink with George, maybe ask him to explain that dumb thing he’d said about Tobin sending Leif dick pics. 

He figured it had been a one-off joke, like his own trolling tendencies had caught on just a little too much, but it was sticking with him, grating on him, making him feel weirdly paranoid. And Tobin didn’t need that. So, he was kind of hoping getting the dude to come along would mean both guaranteed fun (Zoey and Leif were going to be _so_ awk about it- hilarious) and maybe also putting whatever it was that had risen up in his chest back to rest. 

“What if it looks bad? Do you think it will look bad, partying with everything going on?” 

Like Tobin would have the answers or even want to think about that.

“We’re trying to bond, bro,” Tobin said after a moment, rather than come for Leif’s neck. 

He’d worked hard for a long time to just be Tobin and not the brown queer kid with a mom who’d left, a burnout big brother, and a dad who drilled him on everything he could think of to make sure Tobin was accepted, that he had the opportunities he’d immigrated for. And still- the kind of shit they’d been dealing with the last week and the kind of shit they’d been dealing with forever kept happening. Like Tobin didn’t have enough on his plate. 

“How are we going to have these conversations about race and everything when we’ve got chicks we barely know all up in there and everybody’s divided and shit? We can’t work well together if we’re all angsting about getting our place at the table. The figurative and the literal table. That’s what’s up.”

Leif didn’t laugh at the joke he’d tacked on. He’d barely even looked at Tobin at all.. 

Tobin blew out a breath and went to grab a beer from the fridge for himself, another for Leif. His mind was in overdrive these days, and it was so not cool. Why couldn’t something be simple?

Even his relationship with Leif had been bogged down in lies and secrets and the way Tobin liked Leif’s head on his shoulder more than just about anything. More than he should have. He knew all the dude’s dirty secrets, all his worst habits, all his most obnoxious tendencies. He’d heard more than one entry of a rambling vlog; had seen Leif turn on a dime between snarky arrogance and desperate insecurity; for fuck’s sake, Tobin had seen Leif birdwatching with his stupid kale chips and binoculars around his neck, cupping his hand to mimic bird calls, taking pictures and then studiously sketching out the images, detailing wings and sharp eyes with a focus and devotion he literally couldn’t wrap his head around. 

Birds were cool and all, but they were also just birds. What did Leif see in them? 

And what the hell did Tobin see in _him_?

Too much, apparently. 

Even when he was pissing him off, even when they were on different pages in different books, even when Leif was rising in the ranks at work without him, even when he was being shady or a pushover or not giving Tobin what he wanted. Tobin always saw too much in him. 

It had been fine for a long time, but that was before the mess with Joan, before he’d started to suspect he was equal parts worried about his best friend and anxious about keeping the status quo and maybe possibly also jealous. 

Very jealous. Embarrassingly jealous. 

“I guess that’s a good point,” Leif was saying, turning the beer Tobin had brought back for him around and around in his hands. “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen, right?”

“Right!”

Leif grimaced, meeting his eyes. 

“No, I’m seriously asking. I know what I think the worst is, but maybe it could blow up even more than I’m anticipating, and-”

“I am not playing that game with you, dude.”

Tobin found himself automatically reaching out, touching Leif’s wrist, then bracing a hand on his shoulder. Leif’s eyes darted back to him and he swallowed, taking a moment to pop the cap on his beer and drink deeply. 

“No, no, I know,” he said finally, sliding toward Tobin the tiniest bit, then the tiniest bit more.Tobin’s hand moved with him, arm going behind him, hand finding his other shoulder. 

Who knew what the hell they were doing? 

Tobin should retract his arm. It wasn’t like Leif was looking to do that explicitly, probably.

His thumb moved of its own accord, tracing a circle on the skin by Leif’s collar, and Leif’s head dipped down, his hair brushing Tobin’s cheek as he settled against him, draping one of his own arms over Tobin’s midsection.

If he’d needed a hug, he could have just said so, but Tobin would take it. He’d take this. What was some cuddling between friends? They’d hugged it out a million times, held one another through plenty of shit. Platonic bros could snuggle, too. He was woke. 

He was also maybe feeling some non-platonic vibes, but fuck it. 

“It’ll be fine, yo. You need to stop thinking about it. We’ll get drunk, sing some lame songs, make fun of everyone else’s performances, hash some shit out, and then we’ll go home. That’s it, man.” 

“That’s it,” Leif echoed him. 

His hand had found Tobin’s free forearm and wrapped loosely around it, fingers moving through the dark hair there, fucking stroking it. 

Tobin cleared his throat, gently moving to get his beer, and Leif retreated slightly, shaking his head, eyes a little dazed. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, you know, I think I’m still just a little sleep deprived, and you’re a little too comfortable. Sorry, man.”

“Hey, nothing to be sorry for. Obvi.”

And just to prove a point and for no other reason, whatsoever, he put one of his arms around Leif again. 

“Now, what are we watching? I vote Ancient Aliens.”

“I am not watching Ancient Aliens. There’s actually a documentary that was just recommended in my birding group-”

“Nope, not happening. Are we thinking movie or show?”

Leif turned his head to stifle a yawn against Tobin’s shoulder, and Tobin took another good swig of his drink to wash down the sudden swell of “fucking cute” rising up in his horny traitor of a brain. 

“Your call, but I retain veto power and the right to fall asleep if it’s too long.”

“Fair. What about something we could use to get in better with the girls tomorrow night? Like- I don’t know, do they watch the Bachelor? Marie Kondo?”

Leif side-eyed him, frowning a little. 

“Dude. You’ve got to chill with the casual sexism stuff. You’re better than that, Tobes. Man, anyway, we literally binged the Marie Kondo show together.”

“Yeah, and you still fold all your clothes that way, weirdo.”

Leif didn’t bother responding, craning his neck sideways and stretching a little to burrow his head against Tobin’s clavicle. He was being even more touchy than usual tonight, which usually meant-

“Did you talk to your parents or are you stoned?”

“I may have Facetimed them, and then had some medicinal cannabis to calm down,” Leif mumbled after a moment, stressing the word medicinal like there was any reason to do that shit.

Tobin wanted to kiss his stupid head. 

Drink. 

“Ansel’s getting married. Did I tell you that?”

“Yeah? No, you didn’t tell me.”

He’d seen the tagged photo on Facebook and Instagram during some pre-dinner bathroom scrolling, but Leif didn’t need to know that.

“They told me that he might be willing to let me bring a date, but it would need to be a woman who could fit in, otherwise I better come alone.”

Of course they did. 

“Which is fine, since I’ll probably be single forever.”

“Don’t start with that shit.”

“Mmkay,” Leif acquiesced easily. His arm was over Tobin’s stomach again, fingers pressing against his side. His pinky had found skin for a moment then quickly withdrawn, but Tobin’s stomach was in knots with the memory of it and the desire to feel it again. 

He really needed to hit up the apps again, get laid, go on a few dates. Damn. 

So should Leif, probably, even though just the idea was irritating. All the more reason, really. 

“We need to get you back on Tinder and Grindr and all that bullshit. And you should take who you want to Ansel’s wedding. Screw that noise.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

Leif sighed, yawned again. Tobin could feel his even breaths warm on his neck. 

“And I think I’m over the whole dating and hooking up thing. I’m just going to focus on work, you, being a manager, mitigating my parents’ disappointment. You know. See where all that goes.”

You, he’d said. Sure, ok. Your friendship, he meant. He wanted to focus on maintaining their friendship, maybe repairing it a little. That made sense. 

“Well, if you ever decide to get laid again, I got you.”

Tobin blinked, cleared his throat. He could feel Leif’s shoulder stiffen against him, could envision the face he must be making. 

“I mean, I’ll help you with all the apps, whatever you need,” he added. 

Saved it. 

Shit, his face was burning. 

“Uh, so, NuWho? Get our Jodie Whittaker on? We aren’t caught up on that yet.”

“Yeah. Sounds good.”

Leif was asleep on him before the second episode was halfway over. Tobin snagged a blanket from the back of their couch and threw it over his best friend with only a little struggle, checked the alarms on his phone as usual, then let his own head rest against the crown of Leif’s. He could smell his stupid hair and the dark brew on his breath, and he was way too wired still to fall asleep, but he wanted to. 

His phone pinged, and Tobin frowned, picking it up. A DM on Insta from McKenzie. There was another in his Facebook messenger from George, one from his brother. A story response from both Simon and Gabe. Man, Gabe. He missed working with that dude. 

He hit up McKenzie’s notification first. Might as well get that over with. 

“ _Exactly how lame should we expect tomorrow night to be? And will your bf have a conniption if I bail early?_ ”

Tobin rolled his eyes, but replied anyway. 

“ _If you mean Leif, then yes he will nd you’ll never hear the end of it.”_

His brother next. He’d sent a pic of himself and Momo, cheesing with her big toddler grin and an even bigger scrape across her chin. 

_“Momo tried skateboarding 2day. Legendary wipeout._

_She said we should call u btw but too close to bedtime. Let me know when ur down to do some catching up with ur fave brother ok?”_

Tobin snorted and heart-reacted the photo, making a mental note to show it to Leif whenever he was awake again. A notification from McKenzie popped up, but Tobin swiped it away for the moment, typing rapidly. 

“ _You’re my only brother dumbass. But ya, I’d love to see you guys. Got work party tomorrow night. How about Saturday am? Tell Momo her favorite uncle says she looks badass.”_

_“Sat works and nah, not telling her tht Her mom would kill me.”_

Uh-oh, “her mom” instead of just Indu didn’t bode well. Tobin frowned, but thumbs-upped the message anyway. He’d interrogate Ezra more when they got a chance to actually talk. They hadn’t had a proper conversation since Manimala’s third birthday. Tobin shook his head a little and flexed his fingers on Leif’s shoulder. They were starting to fall asleep just a little, but the movement helped take the edge off, and when he relaxed again, his fingertips found the side of Leif’s neck, the dip of his clavicle warm enough to blot out the subtle buzzing of his limb. 

Alright, back to McKenzie. She’d replied, hadn’t she? Tobin swiped one-handed back over to his Instagram. In the background, he could hear the thirteenth doctor rambling on, someone else saying something about nightmares. He’d have to rewatch, but that was just as well. It was more fun getting through the episodes with Leif. 

An awake Leif, anyway. 

_“Fine. But I’m not singing”_

Yeah, that was not gonna fly. Tobin grinned.

_“Everybody has to sing @least once, sorry i don’t make the rules”_

OK, technically, he did. She didn’t need to know that, though. 

“ _Anybody ever tell you you guys are the worst?”_

_“Don’t know what you’re talking about dude.”_

_“Not a dude.”_

Yeah, OK. 

“ _Dudette work or would you rather be called ma’am?”_

 _“It’s McKenzie or sometimes Mack, thx.”_ And a middle finger emoji, charming. 

Maybe he needed to back off a little. 

Tobin drew a breath, looking over at Leif, noting his eyelashes and long nose, his mouth slightly ajar, the skew of the cardigan he was still freaking wearing. 

He licked his lips, then turned back to the phone. He could do this. He was supposed to be becoming a better Tobin. Cutting some of the bullshit. Leif was even calling him on it at home- he never did that. 

“ _Gotcha._

_So, Mack, u seen Dr. Who?”_

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

“Here! I’m here. Tobin?”

Ah, George. Good old George. Georgie old pal. 

Tobin was sounding like Zoey, what the fuck? This was why he should never drink with Code Red- her awkward was apparently catching. 

“Hey, George, you made it,” he crowed. “Catch up!” 

He hastily slid a couple shots and a pint glass George’s way. 

“I guessed you’d like light beer?”

“I do,” George said, perching on the empty stool beside him. 

Leif had been sitting there, but that was before the guy formerly only known as “Giancarlo Karaoke”, now evidently just Giancarlo, had come and flirted the pair of them all the way over to the DJ station. 

He wasn’t going to be jealous tonight. 

Turned out that shit was easier said than done. 

“Though, not to be a stereotype, but I do like a good margarita more.”

“Then get yourself a margarita, yo! Someone else will drink the beer!”

“Light beer?” McKenzie asked, popping up. “IPA? If no one else wants it, I know Cass will drink that shit.”

“Rude,” Cass called out. Then: “Bring it on over.”

Tobin snorted and clapped George on the back. 

“See? Get your marg on. God,” Tobin groaned and knocked back another shot. “Isn’t he supposed to be leading us into song or something? You can’t flirt all night!”

The last bit hollered across the bar. Leif turned minutely to stare daggers at him, face flushed under the bar’s strobing lights. 

“Are you guys in a fight or something?”

“That’s a good question, George,” McKenzie said, making a face at Tobin even as she added, “Come on, coder douche-bros, get your asses to the table!”

She’d been surprisingly less hostile today, and their first round of shots had cooled the aggro energy even more. 

Obviously, his (Leif’s) idea had been a rousing success- with one glaring exception. Literally, glaring. Tobin blew a kiss at Leif, grabbing one more shot for the road as he followed McKenzie and George to where everyone else had grouped up. 

“Spill,” McKenzie said as soon as Tobin’s ass had hit the chair. “What’s up with you and Cranberry?”

“OK, can I just say that I am so glad that nickname is catching on?”

“Something’s going on with you and Leif?” Zoey interjected, eyes narrowing. 

“Obviously,” George said, then: “Hi, Zoey.”

“Hi, George! We, uh, miss you?”

“That’s nice,” George muttered. Tobin grinned and slung an arm around the dude’s shoulders. 

“That reminds me! George, man. What was with you straight roasting me that day- you know, saying I saved my dick pics for Leif? That was funny!”

Zoey choked on her drink. 

“Uh, was it? I thought it was an easy shot. Why wouldn’t you send your dick pics to your boyfriend?” George chortled, and Yasmeen joined his laughter, clasping his hand across the table. 

“Since when are Leif and Tobin dating?”

Zoey sounded almost as confused as he was. 

“We’re not,” he advised her, then again, louder, “We’re not!”

“Uh, OK, sure.”

Why had he invited George again?

“Hey guys, so who’s singing first? What’s going on? What’d I miss?”

“Oh, look who’s back everyone! I thought you were abandoning us for Giancarlo.”

Leif leaned over the back of a chair, squinting at him. 

“No, are you kidding? You know I’m not going anywhere, man.”

He’d heard that before. 

“Actually, you know what, Tobes, you should sing with me!”

“Oh my God, you totally should.” 

Yasmeen looked like she was having way too much fun with this. Actually, all the crew did. 

“Bro, no. If anything, it should be you and Zoey. Come on, managers! Show us how it’s done! Just don’t, like, hook up after, k?”

Zoey cringed, her whole face pinching. 

“That is by far the grossest sentence you’ve ever said, and I once had to hear you describe vomit in detail.”

“What she said,” Leif agreed, shooting Tobin another bemused look. 

Tobin shrugged and pushed a couple shots from the middle of the table Leif’s way. 

“Maybe, but it would be very on-brand for my man Leif here, wouldn’t it? Now drink! You need to catch up from all that time you and Giancar-no spent eye-fucking.”

“We weren’t- fine.”

Leif knocked back both drinks right in a row to a round of scattered cheers. 

“Zoey? Management duet?”

“No thanks,” Zoey said, almost but not quite apologetic. “I actually invited my friends Mo and Max- you guys know Max! Well, most of you. And I also invited Simon, but I think he said it’d be weird to intrude. Max and Mo don’t mind, though! So, they’re coming! Oh, Leif, Mo would do karaoke with you. He’ll sing with anybody!”

“And thanks for that, Zoey. I appreciate it. But come on, everybody has to do at least one song!”

Leif was sounding desperate, forced cheer in his voice but eyes wide and clearly starting to panic at the lack of cooperation.

God, he was so fucking lame and cute and annoying. 

“Fine, I’ll do it!” 

Tobin had totally not meant to say that. 

“There he is,” Leif crooned, lighting up, and OK, fine, maybe it was worth it. 

A few of the other coders whispered something and started snickering, but Tobin was too busy looking at Leif to give a shit. Had he always looked like he had stars in his eyes or was that just the throw of the lights?

“Hold on,” McKenzie interjected. “Let’s make this interesting! What if everyone else gets to pick the songs for whoever sings?”

“That sounds like great teamwork,” Leif said quickly, though he was pretty conspicuously thrown for a loop. “Good enthusiasm! OK, uh, pick a duet and Tobin and I will start us off.”

The group headed off to go through the karaoke catalogue, leaving Leif and Tobin alone for the moment. Tobin swallowed and snagged a few lukewarm mozzarella sticks from the middle of the table. Leif watched him a moment, and Tobin watched back, and then Leif was smiling tightly and standing again. 

“I’m getting a cocktail. I’d ask if you want anything, but I’m pretty sure you’ve already imbibed half your body weight.”

He wasn’t wrong. 

“Oh, that one. That one. OK, no, trust me on this.”

Man, Zoey got loud when she got drunk. Louder. For such a tiny person, she was hella shrill. 

He didn’t even want to think about what mortifying song he was about to be forced into, but he hoped these clowns knew he had no problems getting petty revenge with the song choices for each of _them._

Tobin’s eyes found Leif before he could stop them. The lines of his spine were tight, his cardigan sleeves pushed up to his elbows. When he turned briefly back around, Tobin could pick out the hectic spots on his cheekbones, how his bangs hung distinctly sweat-damp even from a good six feet away.

He smiled without even meaning to, and Leif returned the gesture, even as hesitation was pressed into the upward crinkle of his lips. Tobin licked his own and dropped his eyes to the table, then searched out red hair and a pastel cardigan as he took a deep swig of a drink he wasn’t even sure was his own. 

Zoey was headed back toward the table, the rest of the coders in tow. 

“You guys are up in two minutes,” she told him, stealing Leif’s spot just as he started heading back their way and not looking the least bit sorry. 

“A’ight, let’s do this.”

Tobin stood abruptly, circling the table and tapping Leif on the wrist as he passed him. Leif blinked, almost owlish, and made an aborted move to set down his new drink before apparently changing his mind and tossing back probably half of it instead. Tobin didn’t stick around to see if he settled there or decided polish the rest off, too. 

Giancarlo was leaning into the microphone by the karaoke machine, declaring, “Tobin and Leif, you’re up,” and he wasn’t about to back down from that.

This dude was probably just a nice, normal Valley hipster, but he’d made out with Leif in the bathroom of this place and texted him emojis and touched his arm when they got here; and, once again, he was jealous even though he really had no right to be. 

Tobin paused to look at the song choice and froze despite himself, turning back to stare at Zoey, to try to figure out _how the fuck_ … she was staring right back at him, not-quite-smiling, eyes keen, sharp, like she could see into his damn mind. 

“‘ _Don’t Speak_ ’ is not a duet,” Leif said critically from a lot closer than he’d been seconds ago, chin hovering over Tobin’s shoulder. 

“No shit,” Tobin retorted, and man, OK. He had not meant for that to come out so harsh. 

Leif swallowed but didn’t move away.

“You can take the first verse,” Tobin told him, and it wasn’t a brush-off, but he knew it sounded like one: chill and a little humored and a lot aloof. 

Leif didn’t call him on it, but his chin tipped out, jaw tightening, and something in his eyes flashed with both understanding and frustration. 

“Cool,” he told Tobin evenly all the same. “Let’s show them how it’s done, dude.”

They were… not good. 

The individual parts were fine enough. Leif was Leif, so he poured his whole self into the first verse, eyes on Tobin more than the audience, all but hugging the microphone (and was Tobin also jealous of a metal stick? Maybe so.) like a lover. 

His face was handsome and expressive and hard to watch and hard to look away from. 

They joined forces on the chorus, and at some point Leif had reached over, braced a hand against the middle of his back, and Tobin was pretty sure he’d short-circuited, because he completely stopped singing and couldn’t force words to come again until he was already at least five seconds late for his own verse. 

Leif’s lips were tinted cherry-red, stained by his stupid drink, and Tobin was losing it. He was losing it. 

He was also perhaps more inebriated than he’d planned on being. 

It couldn’t end quickly enough. 

It did end, of course; but, Tobin couldn’t even totally convince himself it had, because the lyrics and Leif’s face as he formed them just kept bouncing around in his head.

At one point, a solid twenty minutes after their set and with Yasmeen and Connor jumping around to the strains of “ _Love Shack_ ” at the front of the room, Zoey leaned in close with her rank tequila breath and started singing along to that stupid song still stuck in his head. Tobin’s only consolation was the knowledge that her hangover tomorrow would probably be even worse than his. 

“I want to talk to you.”

“Busy,” Tobin said automatically.

McKenzie was up now, and Tobin was relishing every second of her stumbling and eye-rolling her way through “ _Let it go_ ”, thank you very much. He’d pushed hard for that one. 

“Tobes.”

“Don’t look at me like that,” Tobin muttered, but stood anyway, pausing long enough to crouch by Mo and ask him how much money he’d need to pay to get a recording of this. 

His wallet was fifty bucks lighter by the time he was joining Leif in the bathroom, but game respect game. He had to remember to get Mo’s number later- he’d forgotten to do that the last time they met. She had truly supreme vibes, and Tobin was pretty sure he could use another cool friend. 

“‘Sup, Leif?”

“What was with that thing you said?” Leif cut right to it. “About my brand?”

“Sleeping with the boss. Dumb dating decisions. Drama. Saying you're gonna just be single, and then immediately getting flirted with and getting sucked back in. Do you want me to keep going, bro?”

Wow, his mouth really was just running, wasn’t it? He had not meant to say all that. 

“Sleep with? I didn’t- I don’t know where you-”

Tobin scowled, and abruptly all the hurt and all the anger and the worry and the envy and the fucking fear rose right to the surface and bubbled over. 

“Yeah, that’s a fuckin lie, bro. Quit trying to play. What happened to telling each other stuff? Having hard conversations?”

“Hard conversations?” Leif repeated, looking both flabbergasted and also like he was getting ready for some mad backpedaling. 

Yeah, Tobin fucking knew him, knew his face and flaws and all the shit he was about. 

“What is it that scares you so much about being real?”

Leif swallowed, back curving for a moment like he’d been sucker punched, but then he was straightening back up, pale and flushed and shaking. 

His eyes were wet; Tobin was pretty sure his were, too. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Tobin had nothing to say to that, so he licked his lips and watched Leif lick his. He took a step forward without even thinking about it. Leif followed suit. And then they were both moving. 

When they kissed, it was wet and dry, smooth and fumbling, a sharpening buzz to the air but also a world of silence where the only real sounds were Leif’s sharp intake of breath, Tobin’s own mumbled profanity. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me! What is it with you and making out in this bathroom? Is it the ambience? Anyway, good to see both of you, don’t mind me. Just going to be peeing here. You two do your thing.”

“Dude, you can stop talking,” Leif told Max, which was just fine, because Tobin was preoccupied with Leif’s throat and trying very hard not to think about the fact that he was _preoccupied with Leif’s throat._

Leif made a sound like a bitten-off moan, and then his hand was cupping Tobin’s jaw, tugging him back to his lips. And, yeah, OK, that was fine with him. 

He didn’t know when they’d moved again, just that Leif was now backed up against the wall of a bathroom stall, and Tobin’s leg was maybe tucked between his, and he had no clue when any of it had happened, but if they didn’t stop, he wasn’t sure he ever would. And he was still mad, even with Leif’s tongue against his, even with one hand in Leif’s hair to anchor him down and the other- yep, the other was on his ass. Tobin squeezed it, since he was already there, and Leif’s hand tightened on him, digging into his lower back, scrabbling to get under his shirt. 

“I knew it,” George announced. “I knew. You guys are so cute.”

“Are they?”

Ah, so Max _was_ still here. 

Tobin bit Leif’s lip lightly, then kissed gently on the spot and over across the slope of his jaw, the taut expanse of his cheek. Leif pulled him in impossibly tighter, fingers flexing around the back of Tobin’s neck and back respectively. He swooped down to kiss his own path down Tobin’s neck, moving the hand from his back to slide up his shirt instead, stroking over the hair on Tobin’s stomach.

“Guys?”

Leif sighed a gust of air that went right down Tobin’s shirt, and yeah, if he hadn’t been hard already, that petulant breath would probably have done the trick. 

Tobin opened his eyes, meeting Leif’s instinctively. 

“Gotta get back out there.”

“Or you guys could literally go back to your apartment. That you share. Where there’s probably one bed.”

George was probably not being helped by the copious liquor they’d all had, but holy shit. Tobin pulled further back from Leif and faced the cockblocking intruders.

“Two beds, bro. We have two beds. Because we aren’t together. Free agent here!”

“I’m gonna go.”

Leif’s voice was low, eyes fixed on the bathroom door. 

“We can finish talking later,” Tobin said, but Leif had already pushed away from the stall and from Tobin, and the door swung shut behind him, without any kind of reply. 

“That was talking?” Max asked incredulously. 

Tobin totally didn’t feel bad about knocking into him on his way back out into the bar. 

They made it another hour, sitting with the team but on opposite sides and opposite ends, as much distance between them as there could reasonably be. They still had to uber home, though, and they’d made out, something Tobin was still wrapping his head around, so it would be fine. Once they were alone, they could resume arguing or whatever. 

Maybe resume the other stuff. 

Should they resume the other stuff?

Leif opened the door of their ride for Tobin to go in first, then ducked in, moving to the empty second row of seating.

Ditching him again, it looked like. 

The ride home was quiet; the walk through their building to their apartment and then to their respective rooms somehow even worse, full of solid silence Tobin couldn’t force himself to break. The anger was back along with everything else, not that it had probably ever left, and they’d both said shit, but damn it, Leif had started this, and if either of them was going to start a conversation up again, _he should go first._

Tobin fell asleep quickly, and he fell asleep alone. His dreams were static and wet blue. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't need to tell y'all how brutal the past year has been, since we've kind of all been living it, but I'm back!! And have already started the next chapter on top of redoing my outline, so I have a firm plan back in place, and I fully expect to finish this story up (and in relatively short order, fingers crossed). I hope everyone is staying safe and taking care of themselves- oh, and watching the new season of Zoey's Extraordinary Playlist (and especially last episode and the new one airing soon!!!). Hoping I didn't lose *everybody* with how long this took to get out.  
> Sending y'all warmth and love <3


	5. My Achilles Heel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter specific warnings: Profanity; innuendo/mild sexual content; allusions to homophobia/biphobia; references to canon parental abandonment; references to unhealthy relationships including possible dubcon; spoilers through season 2 episode 6 (ish); alcohol; discussion of sexuality; etc.

State of Grace

_**C** hapter **F** ive : _

_My Achilles Heel_

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Tobin and Leif had come close to kissing once and only once prior to their ill-fated karaoke-night make out. 

At the time, Tobin was fresh from a jail cell and had just gotten his in with SPRQ-Point, where Leif had started maybe a month before. As soon as Tobin had gotten his official job offer, Leif had started sending apartment links and snippets of a pro/con list on the idea of them maybe moving in together while they finished their undergraduate programs (with Tobin attending in person for the first time over his final two semesters, _holy shit_ ) and started their careers. 

" _Chance of hooking up/wanting more than friendship_ _"_ had been written neatly in both the pro and con columns, only not quite cropped out of frame.

When Tobin had asked about it later, Leif had rationalized it quickly enough, and Tobin could still hear his level defense, hear the riptide of anxiety just beneath, when he thought about it.

He could still see the tightness of his jaw, the step he’d taken backwards, bumping into a kitchen counter and leaning pseudo-casually into it as his thoughts found purchase and Tobin closed the bit of distance that had been put between them.

“Oh, see I wanted to account for all the variables, but I’m in no way trying to insinuate that you’d even want- I mean, just because neither of us is straight and we’d be living together and we’re both at least moderately attractive, right? Statistically, it’s a risk, and the plot of several romcoms. So, I didn’t want to rule it out, but I can- I can totally take that part off if you want me to.”

He’d been obviously nervous and obviously trying to hide it, the two of them standing still so close together in the apartment they were touring with its landlord out on the balcony, giving them their requested space to talk and look around. And so, Tobin had leaned further into him, reached to squeeze his bicep lightly and meet his eyes. 

“Dude, it’s fine,” Tobin had told him, trying to keep up the veneer of levity but sounding more serious than he’d planned. 

But it was _Leif_ , and what else was he going to do? 

“I don’t want you to. To quote my man, Biebs: never say never, right? Yolo.”

He’d winked, and Leif had all but beamed, his shoulders relaxing. 

“OK. Thanks for not being weird about it.”

“Bro, don’t thank me for that,” Tobin had said immediately, dismissive. “It’s us.”

Their eyes had met, and then Leif had taken a half-step even closer, and he’d licked his lips, and Tobin had watched him, a flash of something hot and interested curling through his veins. He’d leaned in and up a hair, and Leif had somehow come closer, too. 

Tobin remembered distinctly, even years after, how he’d swallowed and how Leif’s eyes had followed the motion, the blue of them burning. 

And then the landlord had loudly come back inside, clapping her hands, and asking them, “So? Are you wanting an application?”

And that was that. 

Somehow, even after they’d moved in together (in a totally different apartment, thankfully- San Fran rent costs were _wack_ ), they’d never talked about it. 

But Tobin dreamed about it the night after they had actually made out, the moment they’d come so close once blending and blending with the dim lighting of the bathroom, the black stall wall, his body pressing into Leif’s, and Max and George coming in like that looming landlord, cutting things off before they could even begin. 

“What is it that scares you so much about being real?” Leif’s voice would say, but he wasn’t even there, and it was just Tobin. It was just him and the static, wet blue and a mirror he couldn’t see into. 

He woke up to his phone ringing, and the whole world seemed to throb in time with his ringtone’s beat and the ache of his head. 

Crap, he was supposed to talk to Ezra and Momo (and maybe Indu, TBD) this morning, wasn’t he? What time was it?

He felt like he’d been hit by a train. 

There was a knock on his door, then it opened a crack, a sliver of tousled hair and long limbs just barely visible in the hall’s darkness. 

“You can come in,” Tobin groused, still honestly half-asleep. 

His phone had stopped ringing, thankfully, but he should probably confirm it had been his brother and call him back... 

Tobin pulled his second pillow from behind his head, instead, and dropped it over his eyes, then moved it just enough so he could sort-of see out of one, sort-of watch as Leif came into his room and moved gingerly to lay in the empty spot beside him. The five inches of bed between their sides might as well have been a gulf, one filled with kissing and angry words and half-truths, with tangled legs and the both of them pretending things were fine and the fear each of them carried in their own way, embedded like shrapnel deep in their spines. 

A torrent of bullshit, and the way all of it mattered, but none of it had dampened the care between them- how Tobin wanted to be there for Leif to lean into and how Leif tried to show up for him, be better to him, all the time. They’d find a way back together, because that was what they did. 

Tobin just didn’t know what it would look like or how they’d get there. 

He was getting ready to crack a joke, the silence chafing, but Leif beat him to the punch- probably a good thing given all the jokes he’d been thinking of were either dirty or disparaging, with neither option likely to help right now. 

“Was someone calling you?”

“Yeah, it was probably Ezra. Promised to facetime him and the fam this morning,” Tobin advised him automatically. 

He looked over, and Leif did the same. 

He looked rough, bedhead and shadows under his eyes, ruddy skin and stubble. When Tobin let up the pillow on his face a bit more and breathed deeply, he could smell the peppermint of toothpaste on Leif’s breath, could practically taste it. 

Could literally taste it if he just leaned in-

“OK, yeah, I was just seeing if you had any plans for today.”

Tobin tilted his head back to examine his ceiling. He really needed to dust at some point, but he was pretty sure that could remain Future Tobin’s problem for today (and probably however long it took for Leif to decide to handle it). 

“Just the call. Though this hottie from the third floor agreed to get coffee with me this weekend. Gotta milk the benefits of going viral for all it’s worth, amiright?” 

Leif was silent for a beat, then: “Yeah, totally.”

He’d said the wrong thing, clearly, but he was going to roll with it. 

“I can do that tomorrow, though. What were you thinking?”

“Do you want to go to a park with me?”

Leif was literally one of the most obnoxious people to go to parks with, between his birding and organic snack bullshit and his long-ass legs. He always put on an absurd amount of sunscreen, and he always managed to burn anyway. 

“Yeah, man, I can be down for that. What time were you thinking?”

“Just whenever you’re done with your call works.”

Leif wasn’t looking at him anymore when Tobin glanced over, eyes on the desk shoved up beside Tobin’s dresser, and more specifically lingering over a picture of the two of them from high school. They’d gone to Tobin’s senior prom together as friends, and Tobin had insisted they do a proper pic together to commemorate the occasion. Tobin’s elbow was on Leif’s shoulder in the picture, their heads leaning close together, Tobin flashing his cheesiest grin and Leif clearly right about to laugh, barely holding it together. Tobin’s suit was dark red, Leif's navy so deep it verged on black, and Leif had insisted on them wearing matching boutonnieres. White rose, because “you can’t argue with a classic”. 

There was a strip of photo-booth pictures from that night somewhere in Tobin’s desk or in the tote of pictures he kept under his bed. They’d done that toward the end of the night, and for the last pic Tobin had unexpectedly planted a kiss on Leif’s cheek while Leif’s eyes bugged and his mouth was open, loudly saying “dude,” if Tobin remembered right (and he did, of course, because he was pretty sure he couldn’t forget a minute of that night despite the spiked punch they’d both indulged in). Tobin had laughed so hard his sides hurt, kept the strip that printed at his house and had it pinned up on a bulletin board despite Leif’s protests for the rest of the year. 

The prom picture was one of his favorite photos of them. Leif’s too, if he had to guess. 

“It’s hilarious how much we look like a couple there.”

Even more hilarious how good Tobin was at putting his foot in his mouth, based on the way Leif’s mouth thinned at the observation, eyebrows drawing together briefly, before he looked over and smiled, so wide it probably hurt. 

“Totally,” he said.

If Tobin didn’t _know_ he was lying, he’d have never been able to tell, and that sucked big time. 

Leif stood from his bed, smiling wryly down at him, so tall he blotted out the sun filtering in through Tobin’s blinds. The fractured rays caught on his hair while his face fell into shadow, looking more tired in the half-light.

“I’m going to let you get to that call and make some food.”

“Better be greasy,” Tobin called after him as he left, light and easy and like nothing was wrong whatsoever. “Like dripping, bro. So unhealthy it makes everything better!”

“You’ll get cage-free egg whites and nothing else if you keep that up,” Leif retorted loudly, already out the door. 

Tobin shook his head, but he was grinning softly, stupidly. 

Shower first, then he’d call Ezra. 

Tobin snagged his phone, double checking the missed call was indeed from his brother, and fired off a text letting him know it had been a late night but he’d be good to call in about thirty, then headed for the bathroom. 

Between the hot water and indulging in some routine hands-on self-care, the shower did a world of good taking the edge off Tobin’s hangover. He’d been unable to help his mind from going back to last night with Leif while he got himself off, but so what? He was chill. He knew what toxic masculinity was, and he was not about that life. What was a little arousal and fucking around between friends?

It could happen again, and he’d be totally fine with that, and it didn’t have to change anything between them. 

OK, maybe that was taking things a little far. 

And also, maybe not what toxic masculinity was, per se? Whatever. It worked. 

Tobin just wasn’t sure he could handle another wrench being thrown into their friendship, as if they hadn’t had enough baggage piling up. And if that meant he and Leif were just the same friends they always had been, or maybe friends that occasionally made out, friends that held hands and kissed goodnight and sometimes slept in the same bed…

Wishful thinking. Tobin had done the friends with benefits thing before, and it had gone really well with one dude, imploded with another pal of his. He and one of his ex-girlfriends had fooled around “as friends” for like a month after officially breaking up, and boy had that been a mess. He didn’t have the greatest track record- and Leif’s was even worse. He knew that man like he knew himself, and he knew he was kidding himself that they could keep that kind of thing up. Leif had never been all that good at casual anything, and there was already love between them- it would be a mess. Their friendship would make it, but one way or another things would probably change. 

If they talked about it. 

Did they really have to talk about it?

Tobin threw on a tee and some gym shorts and loose joggers over top, then checked the time and called his brother as he headed down the hall. 

Leif was in the kitchen still, but there were two plates set up, one with Leif’s usual egg whites and the other with a mass of cheesy scrambled eggs and- was that bacon?

It was bacon. 

“I fucking love you so much, dude.”

“You’re welcome,” Leif said, not even turning around from where he stood in front of the stove.

“What are ya doing?”

“I decided to make quiche.”

Of course he did. 

“Save me some?”

“Tobin,” his brother crooned as he finally picked up on FaceTime. “What the fuck is up? Dude, you look wrecked.”

“Fuck off,” Tobin fired back. Then: “Wait, where’s Momo?”

“Uh, we’ve been potty training, and she used naptime as an opportunity for revenge. Like all over herself and her new bed and in Indu’s hair-”

“‘Nuff said,” Tobin cut him off, spotting the look of dawning horror Leif had shot over his shoulder. “Hold up, I’mma take you to my room before you upset Leif’s delicate sensibilities.”

“Hi Leif, didn’t know you were there, man,” his brother said cheerfully.

“Always nice to see you, Ezra,” Leif said, not sounding at all like he meant it. 

Tobin laughed at him, taking another moment to appreciatively scan over his friend before towing his phone and plate toward his room. 

“No food in the bedrooms,” Leif called out right as Tobin hit the hall. 

“Too late,” Tobin called back to him. “I’ll eat it at my desk if it makes you feel better!”

“No, you won’t,” Leif yelled back. 

“No, I won’t! Thanks for breakfast!”

He locked his door just in case, a wise move given the series of knocks not twenty seconds later. 

“Busy!”

“You’re the worst,” Leif announced, voice muffled.

“You love me!”

He grinned when he heard Leif retreating. 

“Point- Tobin.”

“Do you always talk to yourself in the third person? And flirt that much with your roommate?”

“I don’t- shut up.”

“I’m just saying, yo. You and Leif were still tight last time we hung out, but you weren’t checking out his ass the way you just did. At least, not that I saw. What’s going on there? One of you gettin' it in?”

“This is so not helpful.”

Ezra gave him a look.

“Legit, there’s nothing really going on. Bro, we did some drunken first-base, maybe second-base, stuff last night, but that’s it. I literally have a coffee date with this non-binary hottie from analytics tomorrow, and this cute chick from marketing is all up in my DMs.”

“OK,” his brother said simply. “So, do you want to tell me more about work? Man, I can’t tell you how much I was bragging about you at the restaurant. My little brother going viral, and it wasn’t even for something illegal or for trying to free the reptile exhibit or some shit.”

“I talked about doing that one time.”

Ezra scoffed. 

“Yeah, but you had blueprints.”

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

The park Leif had navigated them to was maybe a twenty minute drive with traffic, but it felt closer to forty by the time they’d arrived. 

Tobin had set a precedent for his car ages ago that the first person buckled got to pick the tunes (or lack thereof). Of course, he had moved a little too slowly today and paid the price when Leif synced to his Bluetooth and immediately started playing a podcast episode consisting entirely of guided meditation. 

Tobin might kill him. 

He was really considering it. 

Thankfully, the Glen Canyon trails were situated in a nice area with plenty to look at while they searched out parking. But then, they did park, and Tobin unbuckled, and Leif didn’t budge. His eyes were on the horizon, the lines of his jaw tense and jumping. So much for all the meditating he was supposedly doing the ride up. 

“Yo, Earth to Leif. You still finding your inner peace or?”

A slight furrow cropped up between his eyebrows, but otherwise- nada. 

“K. You just let me know when you’re ready to do this thing. I’mma check in on Beyoncé’s feed. Maybe see about my girl T-Swift. I heard something about a new album.”

“I have to ask-” Leif started finally, eyes firmly planted on the road now, even though they were not only still parked but had been for the last ten minutes probably. “You said that picture of us was hilarious.”

Tobin allowed himself to finish responding to McKenzie’s insta story quick, then put down his phone and looked at Leif directly. 

“Not a question, bro. And I believe I said it was hilarious how much we looked like a couple.”

Leif looked sideways at him.

“Tobes, man-”

“Yeah, I know it’s semantics, but some context is good.”

Leif frowned, and Tobin rubbed a palm over the steering wheel, watching him.

“Why is it bothering you so much?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Yeah, man, obviously I do.”

Leif shot him a bemused glance, then promptly returned to staring at the gravel outside his window, the dotted line of trees and craggy outcrops of stone. 

“You think the idea of us being more than just friends is funny,” he said, like pulling off a Band-Aid, more to the dirt and his own reflection in the car window than anything else; Tobin laughed before he could help it.

“Leif, man, we legit made out yesterday,” he said as soon as he could actually speak. 

Leif looked both hurt and bordering on angry now, though, and that helped cool the humor some.

Some.

“Leif, dude, it’s hilarious because I still thought I was straight when we did that shit. And because that night was part of how I figured out I wasn't.”

Leif turned to face him, eyes keen and a little dubious, even as his whole face started to soften.

“Care to elaborate?”

“I kissed you in the photo booth,” Tobin said bluntly, and Leif laughed this time, just a little bit but enough to help lighten the air between them.

It was a start.

“On the cheek,” he retorted, nevertheless, like that proved anything.

“Yeah, and then I kept thinking about how much I wanted to do it again. On the mouth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Tobin had literally come out to Leif as “not straight” like exactly two weeks later. He’d settled on queer four months after that, when he’d had enough time to turn it over in his head and decide he wasn’t completely sold on the fit, but he was ok enough with it. It felt better than any of the others he’d seen. He usually opted to say he didn’t need labels, didn’t really have one, but that queer worked well enough. It got people off his back, if nothing else, and now all these years later, it felt almost good, even if it still also felt like one of the smaller parts of who he was. 

Man, he’d thought about kissing Leif specifically so much that first month after prom. Then he’d hooked up with his first guy, focused himself on someone else’s eyes and lips and hair, and the stuff with Leif had faded some. Eventually, it was background noise, then less than that. An occasional pulse in the back of his head, a blue moon glimpse in the sky, an urge to stay close and a current of care that never went anywhere but that swirled low enough Tobin could call it their friendship and leave it there.

The tide was rising, though, wasn’t it? The current was getting stronger.

The thing was, then, he just didn't know where he stood or if he was ready or if they could afford to be swept away. What could be lost in those waters?

Tobin had once managed to lose a whole ass hoodie, including his keys in the pocket, to the ocean. He didn’t have a great track record.

The sun was reflecting off Leif’s eyes when Tobin met them, cerulean as the skyline, and he smiled, reached over to rest his arm on Leif’s shoulder. 

“You ready to get going or did all that stretching wear you out already?”

“Go fuck yourself,” Leif tossed back at him, leaning to grab his bag from the floor of the car.

“You gonna watch or?”

Leif didn’t dignify that with a response, so Tobin went ahead and laughed at it himself, chortling all the way over to the trailhead. 

They’d been to this particular park together once or twice in the last couple years, but it had been a while. Long enough that Tobin had forgotten the steepness of the winding wood and dirt stairs and the way Leif tended to move in fits and starts, eyes on the sky and branches of trees more than the path ahead of him. 

“Dude, you’re making me nervous.”

He had totally not meant to fess up to it, but there it was. The whole honesty and talking about his feelings bit seemed like it was spilling over more and more into his day-to-day, like posting about the racist shit at work had opened some kind of floodgate. It went against basically a lifetime of training not to shut that shit back down, but at the same time Tobin wasn’t sure how. More so, he wasn’t sold on if he should- not anymore. 

Upsetting the status quo was asking for trouble. His pops had always been very clear with him and his brother about the ways they could raise their worth and find success while still keeping their heads down just enough that no-one would have cause to come at them. It had worked well enough for Tobin for a long time, just finding ways to fit in, folding himself where he needed to, putting on a smile and cracking jokes to defuse any rising tension or enmity. Do enough to succeed but not enough for a spotlight. 

It had gotten him where he was. Had gotten his whole family where they were, kept them safe more often than not. There was something useful there he couldn’t disparage or completely give up. 

But he also couldn’t stay at that level, and he couldn’t close the gates, couldn't put things back to how they'd been before. He couldn't put himself back to how he’d been before.

People were expecting shit of him now- Simon and Zoey and Leif and a tidal wave more. 

And Tobin- he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing with any of it, but he was trying, and he supposed that was all most of them were asking for. 

Leif was trying, too, and too hard most of the time, at that. Simon was, too, and they’d been talking more these last few days than they ever had before. 

Zoey was as awkward and stumbling as she’d ever been, but she was actually a cool boss, and she’d done more than he’d expected, made space to listen, had checked in on him via text that morning even. 

It was kind of nice to know he wasn’t alone, to know it better than he had in a long time- ever, possibly. 

His hand found Leif’s elbow, wrapping around it as they continued down the stairs. Leif barely reacted to it, but then he was moving his arm, taking Tobin’s hand instead. 

“Better?”

“Knowing that if you fall on your ass, you’re probably taking me with you? Yeah, absolutely. That’s the dream.”

He’d expected Leif to drop his fingers at that, but he tightened his grip instead. 

Tobin swallowed, flexing a little in the hold. His thumb moved, swiping circles over the top of Leif’s hand. This sort of thing normally felt, like, unbearably intimate to him for any real length of time, but the most uncomfortable part of it here, now, with Leif, was how uncomfortable it wasn’t, how long Tobin was pretty sure he could stay like this with their hands entwined. 

The stairs ended, became a dirt path curving an upward slope, and they walked for a while, talking aimlessly. Tobin told Leif about the call that morning and about how excited Momo was to see him, how his brother had said he was proud about the hashtag Tobin had started. He talked about his call with his dad the other week, how his dad had called again the night he’d posted to interrogate and caution him, but had sent an email two days later with all the news articles about what had happened, all the mentions of Tobin’s name. He hadn’t said he was proud in so many words, but had been impressed by the impact, by what Tobin had done. 

He didn’t talk about this shit with anyone, but Leif knew him and his family and the deal with work even if he was about the whitest white boy around; and so, he understood what it all meant to Tobin. 

He also understood better than to make a big deal about it, mostly just saying stuff like, “That’s awesome, Tobes,” and sometimes starting on some tangent about the bigger social stuff before cutting himself off and instead asking more info on whatever Tobin had been saying. 

It occurred to him as they approached another fairly steep drop-off that they were still holding hands, and this time he did let go, scratching his neck and pulling out his water as he stopped to look around. Leif patted him on the shoulder and went ahead down the hill, pausing midway and swiveling to cast a searching glance at the sparse tree line.

Tobin caught up to him easily enough and touched his wrist before he could think better of it.

“‘Sup?” 

“Heard something.”

“Like a bear?”

“Hilarious.”

“And never forget it!” Tobin grinned. “So, was this expedition just like an excuse to hold my hand and force me to watch you watch for birds?”

Leif didn’t look at him, but his lips curled into something like a smirk. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tobin huffed good-naturedly, shifting his weight. They stood quietly there together for what had to be at least a few minutes, both scanning the skies, before Tobin’s impatience got the better of him.

“So, do we have to stay here or?”

Leif closed his eyes, frowning, then shook his head. 

“No, I’ll find something else.” He cleared his throat. “And believe it or not, my ulterior motive for coming here with you had nothing to do with birds.”

“Bro, is this a kink thing?”

“God, no.”

“‘Cuz I do not remember this from that joint PornHub we had. You remember that shit?”

Leif scowled, ears bright red, and started down the hill. 

“We swore we wouldn’t ever talk about that.”

“You’re right. You’re totally right. My bad, man. What’s a PornHub anyway?”

Leif threw a dirty look back at him, but Tobin could see his mouth twitching. 

And while he was letting his mouth run and getting under his boy’s skin, he might as well throw a real question in. 

“So, what exactly was the ulterior motive? I’m assuming it wasn’t murder. …Is it murder?” 

“It wasn’t, but now it might be.”

Touché. 

“What-”

“Actually, there’s a little clearing with a picnic table if we go left up there,” Leif cut him off. “It’s probably about seven minutes from here. Do you want to, uh, head that way, so we can talk? Like, for real talk?”

Tobin swallowed. 

“Sure. I’m down for that. You have snacks, too, right?”

“Of course I have snacks. What do you take me for?”

⚯⑅⚯🎲⚯⑅⚯

Kale chips and banana chips and a couple protein bars with _dates_ in them should not be considered snacks. By anyone. Ever. 

Tobin was pretty sure this could be considered a hate crime. 

OK, no, that was wrong. But, damn it, so was this. 

“How dare you.”

“Relax,” Leif said easily. 

“How can I? There’s nothing here to relax me!” Tobin swept his arms out over the spread of crimes against nature Leif had the audacity to call food. 

“Eat a protein bar. Sheesh, and I’m the dramatic one?”

“You are the dramatic one,” Tobin retorted. “But I am very sweaty, my sugar may be crashing, and you promised me snacks. This? This is treason in some places.”

“Treason?”

“I’m pretty sure!”

Leif smiled, shaking his head, and pulled something out of his bag, sliding it across the table toward Tobin. Tobin pursed his lips, eyeing the soft cooler. 

“If this is just a bunch of carrots, I want you to know that I will unfollow you on all social media.”

“OK.”

“And possibly unfriend you.”

Leif nodded, and, no joke, foisted what looked like a tablecloth from the bag. What was he, some secret, hot Mary Poppins? Marty Poppins?

OK, that actually sounded pretty fly. Tobin might be willing to watch that movie.

“Sounds good. Now, can you move that so I can put this down?”

Tobin took up the soft cooler and unzipped it while Leif set about putting down the tablecloth. The woodgrain looking tablecloth. Was there any man as absurd as this one? He had literally brought some kind of linen tablecloth that looked like vintage, distressed white wood to be used on top of an actual wooden picnic table. 

Tobin plopped down and pulled out both the beers Leif had packed into the cooler. 

“Isn’t drinking while we’re on a hike like a really terrible idea?”

“Oh, yeah.”

He was tempted to open them anyway- it would definitely make the talk they had to have easier, and Leif didn’t look like he cared one way or the other. But, no. They could drink later. Tobin took up the Gatorade and trail mix instead. 

“There’s M&M's in that,” Leif told him, as if that wasn’t readily apparent. “Unhealthy enough for you?”

“It’ll do. But we’re having pizza tonight.”

Leif nodded, then stood from the table, eyes on another tree, camera in hand. There was chirping coming from somewhere around them, but Tobin couldn’t tell anything beyond that. He shook his head, rooting through the trail mix and pulling the M&M's as he found them, popping a handful in his mouth as Leif pulled a notebook from apparent thin air and tucked it under his arm, peering through the binoculars around his neck. 

Marty freaking Poppins alright. 

He forced himself to watch quietly and hold the jokes as Leif took a couple careful steps toward a thicket. Tobin could see what looked like red and white feathers now, but hell if he knew what that meant beyond some kind of colorful bird. Leif managed to jot down a few notes and take a few pictures before the bird appeared to retreat, which Tobin figured was good- maybe he’d chill a little more now that he’d seen at least one. 

“Are congratulations in order?”

Leif shrugged one shoulder, pushing his hair off his forehead, then came over and easily hoisted himself onto the tabletop by Tobin’s elbow. 

“Purple Finch, I’m pretty sure, but maybe a House Finch. They’re not uncommon, here year-round, but I didn’t manage to get a picture the last time I saw a Purple Finch, so that’s cool.”

“Cool,” Tobin agreed, because if it made Leif happy it kind of was, no matter how little the specifics of the bird or any of that meant to him personally. 

Leif smiled at him, and it was soft, and Tobin had to force his attention back to his trail mix and away from how much he suddenly wanted them to be kissing again. 

He’d known Leif for so long, and it had never been like this before; but, it was as if the Joan situation and then their make-out last night had unlocked something, had opened yet another floodgate. As if Tobin needed more change right now. 

Time to cockblock himself. 

“ _I feel like you’re really good at deflecting_ ,” he remembered Zoey telling him and pushed the thought back. Maybe he was. It didn’t matter. This was what it was, and Tobin was who he was, and _screw it_. They needed to talk about this either way. 

“So, what was up with you lying about boning Joan? Or was she boning you?”

He smirked over the last part, waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

The smile was gone now. Good. 

“So, I guess we’re doing this now, huh?” Then: “I thought I was in love with her.”

Well, damn. 

Tobin grabbed the cooler and pulled out the beers again. 

“Keep going. These are both for me, yeah?”

He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out the bottle opener and popping the first cap off. The beer was a sour ale from some microbrewery they’d gone to a while ago, not Tobin’s favorite but it would do. Hell, he’d drain some Natty Daddy if it were all he had, and that was quite possibly the worst beer around. Thankfully, Leif was way too persnickety to ever buy that kind of shit, even if it meant anytime he packed the cooler Tobin got stuck with the most hipster, pretentious libations a dude could find. 

“Yeah, yeah OK.” Leif took a deep breath, his whole face tight. 

Tobin could already see sunburn developing on his forehead, the bridge of his nose, and the side of his neck, and he kind of hated that he couldn’t even take petty entertainment in it, that he kind of just wanted to say “forget it”, to say “Nevermind, I don’t care,” or “I don’t need to hear this shit. Do you have some aloe in that bag?” and help a bro out. 

It sucked how much he suddenly didn’t want to deal with any of this, but he was also running low on things he could deflect to, and he knew they needed to get real and get deep and get past all this for the sake of their friendship, if not for the sake of whatever else they might also be. 

“Honestly, there's not that much to tell. We were working on the Chirp, I liked spending time with her. You know Joan, I mean she’s obviously beautiful and brilliant and she has this power and presence. And I had a sense that there was something between us, so I- I put it out there. We kissed, obviously. She asked if I wanted to come back to her place. She said she wanted to keep going but we had to keep things casual, and I agreed.”

Of course he had. Hell, who wouldn't have agreed?

“But the more we were together- the stronger my feelings got. And she didn't-” Leif swallowed, and Tobin closed his eyes, brought the beer back to his mouth with one hand while the other found Leif’s, his fingers just skimming white knuckles, hot under the apparent swell of emotion and the glare of the midday sun above them. 

“She didn't want me or feel the same,” he said after a beat. “She ended things. And I couldn't- I saw Max and asked if he had room for me to move to his team. You know the rest basically. That’s why Joan didn't turn me in when she caught me giving you code.”

Tobin wasn’t even sure what to say or where to start. He finished his beer, let the silence steep between them as he cracked open the other. He still had a hand on Leif’s, thumb once more tracing absent circles. 

“Tobes?”

“So, why were you really passing me the code? Why not keep it, get revenge or whatever on Joan by winning the bake-off?”

He hadn’t meant to ask it, really- had barely even begun to consider the question before it was out. But it sat heavy in the air, and Tobin knew immediately that he needed the answer before anything else could be figured out. Had he just been being used as some tool between Leif and their old boss? What was he supposed to believe here?

“I didn’t want revenge is why- man, she didn’t want me and you were mad at me, and I wanted to make things right somehow. I thought if I could be useful and give you both a win, we could be cool again, and she might see me in a different light. Or something.”

“Killing two birds with one stone,” Tobin said, and shook his head, taking a drink of the other beer. 

This one was also a sour, a little darker and deeper than the other. It burned going down.

“Any other questions?”

Yeah. Yeah, he had one.

“You said you thought you were in love with her, as in past tense.”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, dude? I mean, what’s the real there?”

Leif slipped down to sit on the bench beside Tobin, one leg pulled up so his knee was against Tobin’s thigh. 

“I don’t know,” Leif answered finally. “I thought I did. I mean, I felt something. A lot of things. I vlogged about it. Several times, actually.”

Of course, he had. 

“But the more I think about it now, I guess the more I think that I really liked her, and I really liked the idea that she could like me. I mean- a woman like that?”

“Yeah.”

“That might have been what I liked most.” Leif’s voice was a little strangled. He shifted on the seat, moving to put both legs beneath the table now, his arm pressed against Tobin’s. “She could pick practically anyone, and she picked me. But she didn’t really. I guess I was being naïve. I mean, she was always clear that we were just having fun, that it wasn’t meant to be anything more, and, ultimately, it was me reading into things that screwed it all up. You know?”

Tobin nodded, put an arm around Leif’s back automatically, pulling him in closer. Leif’s head dipped sideways, resting against his. After a long moment, Leif spoke again, voice a little shaky but clear just the same.

“You wanted me to be real with you, man. You still want that?”

Tobin swallowed. Did he? This was all just about too real. It was tempting to make a joke, direct Leif’s attention to some bird or other and run scared. 

“Yeah,” he said instead.

Quietly, so quietly Tobin barely heard him at all, Leif added, “I’m nervous that I might be doing the same thing with you.”

And what the hell was he supposed to do with that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I am so grateful for every single hit, every kudos, every comment. I can never say that enough. Sending everyone warmth and good thoughts. 
> 
> If you want to yell at me after this, you can find my clusterfork of a general tumblr at lunalitsol.tumblr.com
> 
> Take care of yourselves <3


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